


Losing Tracks

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Blindness, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Casual Sex, Cemetery, Depression, Dildos, Dress Up, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dunland, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Fights, First Time, Good Parent Thranduil, Graphic Description of Corpses, Haldir lives, Healers, Horses, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infertility, Jealousy, M/M, Mearas, Memory Alteration, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reconciliation, Rivendell | Imladris, Rohan, Sailing To Valinor, Sea-longing, Separations, Superstition, Third Age, Thranduil and Galadriel reconcile, Traditions, Wakes & Funerals, Wedding Night, Weddings, aka 3000 years old virgin sex, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, black Mearas, edward cullen has nothing on elves who marry late, irritating lube, part time boyfriends with more issues than imladris daily, sometimes aragorn is an idiot, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Before Aragorn can face his new life as the ruler of Gondor and Arnor, on a journey to Imladris, Arwen and him try to handle Arwen's serious injury from the Battle of the Black Gate. Likewise, Legolas and Tarisilya in Lord Elrond's valley have to deal with the consequences of their decisions in the war for the first time.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Elrond Peredhel, Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen & Original Female Elf Character(s), Arwen Undómiel & Elrond Peredhel, Arwen Undómiel & Galadriel | Artanis, Arwen Undómiel & Legolas Greenleaf, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Glorfindel & Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s), Éomer Éadig & Original Female Elf Character(s)
Series: Tales Untold [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 64
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/lt.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #4 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/45d354ae0000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-LOSING-TRACKS-4-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "Losing tracks" is set right after the War of the Ring.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Since shortly before the War of the Ring, Legolas is betrothed to a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya. Due to King Thranduil's aversion against Lórien, the relationship is a secret so far. After healing Legolas from bad injuries at Helm's Deep, Tarisilya meant to sail west but then decided to stay in Middle-earth for him. Getting parted from her family now living in Valinor broke her heart though and almost had her waste away. Aragorn healed her at the sick camp of Cair Andros, just like Arwen who got injured at the Battle of the Black Gate. Arwen's wound very likely has left her infertile, so Aragorn and her have decided to travel to Imladris, in order for Arwen's family to try and heal her.

**_T_** he ride from Gondor to Rohan, could actually be easily managed in just a few days. Even when you were on your way only with average speed, out of consideration for two travelers weakened by sickness and injury, and one of them being forced to use a sidesaddle. With an abundance of much too fresh memory of death and blood on your mind though, every single minute felt like half an eternity.

While the two female members of the company had initially tried to bridge the depressing silence by talking about their common past ... When faced with the destruction that shaped the landscape around Minas Tirith after the War of the Ring, they hushed at some point as well.

Tarisilya and Arwen both had come this same way not too long ago, but Tarisilya's fuzzy condition back then had allowed no attention to the surroundings. And Arwen's soul had been poisoned by worry for her beloved. Before that, both of them had stayed in their respective realms for the duration of the war, hardly aware of anything in the world around them. For the first time, the two she-elves were now explicitly confronted with the consequences of the attacks on Men which had any casual tale from their childhood quickly being stuck in their throat.

No, they had not pictured it to be _that_ bad when they had decided to travel west with the future King of Gondor.

Although the rebuilding had of course started already, it would take many more months or even years to wipe out the traces of what had happened. Whole stretches of roads were impassable, forest areas had burned down, villages looked deserted. People who had lost their homes and relatives were straying aimlessly, in search of answers, and didn't find any. Whenever the travelers rode through settlements instead of the open country, they were confronted with despair, sometimes with chaos. Fallow fields, vandalized houses, too many wounded and too few healers, funeral processions, nonexisting village government which caused unrest or even fights on the streets … While in the capital, life was almost taking its normal course again, out here, little of that could be felt.

It was Arwen eventually voicing the doubts that she could see in the other two elves’ faces as well. They had just crossed Rohan borders and came across the same images in Gondor's neighboring country. That was when it got too much for her. Arwen was the one haunted most by the sight; after all, Aragorn had only got this trip going when she had told him about her decision to visit her home and her family once more before her new life in Minas Tirith would really begin.

"Estel, wait, please. This doesn't feel right. Gondor needs a King right now more than ever. You should ride back to the city and make sure, help comes to these areas as quickly as possible. The three of us can continue on. Legolas can take care of us both too."

She steered Asfaloth to Brego's side and tried to read in her beloved's withdrawn expression what was going on in him. He had done more than enough for her; now it was her turn to offer him her support at least in the form of insistent advice. After she had so foolishly thrown herself into the midst of the Battle at the Black Gate, it was only thanks to Aragorn that her life had been saved. Arwen had more than once tried to tell him that he shouldn't now set forth on this journey on top of that, not at such a bad time. Thanks to the hasty departure from the sick camp at Cair Andros though, there had been no chance for such a lengthy conversation.

Arwen had not been there when Aragorn had held a short speech in the court of the Citadel before that, but he had more or less repeated it in the tent city, word by word, before the four of them had left it behind. Although Arwen knew her partner's persuasiveness probably better than most, she wondered if Aragorn had really been able to convince the people for longer than a few hours why he had to go away so badly.

Apparently, he had at least managed to get across to the citizens and soldiers that the war had changed this country and that he had to know what things in the individual areas were like. In Minas Tirith he wasn't necessarily needed right now, especially since his Ring Companion Gimli substituted for him there; that much was true.

To Arwen and their fellow travelers, too, he had described more than once his plans for the city’s protection from future danger, expressing his sympathy for the fear and the grief still prevailing in Minas Tirith – and in him, too. It surely helped the simple commoner to feel that even leaders weren't immune to such emotions.

The argument that Faramir's ancestors had always protected Gondor from threats already - in spite of Faramir's father Denethor having made more than one dubious decision in the last few years - might have swayed most of the audience more than anything though. While Faramir didn’t hold the same hero reputation as his brother in life, people’s hearts were flying to him as well, especially after the surprising announcement of his betrothal with the Lady Éowyn of Rohan at the end of Aragorn's speech.

Long after the first great alliance, relationships between Gondor and Rohan were frozen, but Men knew exactly that without the Rohirrim, Minas Tirith would have been lost, and that at the Black Gate as well, even more deaths would have occurred. This wedding would represent a symbol for the friendship between the two realms gaining more strength by the day – a prospect that seemed to make even the wait for the crowning ceremony of the new King easier for many.

None of this though could stop Arwen from wondering though if this whole hassle wasn't serving a purpose that would bring about more damage than advantages. The longer they were gone, the longer citizens would have to think, the more they would feel like their future ruler had left them alone. And Aragorn wouldn’t be around to prove them wrong.

"Estel?" With a quiet hiss, she turned straight again because the twisted posture in the uncomfortable saddle irritated the barely healed tissue of and inside her lower belly. This riding style was unfortunately gentlest on the injuries inflicted on her at the Black Gate. Injuries that posed a danger not to be underestimated for Aragorn's reign. Therefore, it was indeed convenient that Arwen had learned centuries ago already to ride with both legs on one side. The not so glorious memory of how she had once tried to teach her friend Tarisilya the same, made her chuckle in spite of the turmoil in her mind. She hadn't ridden like this for a considerable time, but in a carriage, they would have advanced even slower.

Aragorn occasionally shifted a little in the saddle himself, clearly uptight after the last days without a lot of breaks. He shrugged but even after a lengthy pause, didn't speak out. Had he even listened to her?

Time to haul out the big swords then. " _Your Majesty_?"

From the corner of her eyes, Arwen saw a suspicious twitch around Tarisilya's mouth and rolled her eyes meaningfully. That she'd been bound in love to this man for many long years, didn't mean she had better chances of fighting his infamous stubbornness.

"I told you, you're not supposed to call me that." Patting Brego's neck, Aragorn finally awoke from his rigidity and shook his head at Arwen.

"If there’s no other way to be heard …"

"You suddenly underestimate me after all this time if you assume, I can only do one thing at once." Aragorn tilted back his head with a quiet growl and moved it from one side to the other, to loosen his muscles. It didn't really seem to help. In spite of her annoyance, Arwen decided to help him out with a massage later.

"The suffering here devastates me as much as it does you, mîl nín. Every farmer and every single child living here is just as dear to me as every resident of Minas Tirith. It’s one of the reasons for coming this way, as I told you already. Until our return, I'll know where the most help is needed, and most quickly."

Leaning to his side, Aragorn eyed Arwen with an amused sparkle in his grey eyes, squeezing her hand above their horses' necks. "Does that suffice to silence your conscience? Please do not burden yourself with things already weighing down on my soul enough, not yet. Right now, your health is my priority. The first thing every Dúnadan learns is to always choose their way wisely. Trust my judgment."

Arwen meant to object again but the invisible veil falling on Aragorn's expression revealed that his thoughts were back in places that not even she could reach. For that, in spite of their long relationship, they had always had too few chances to spend much time together at a stretch.

Thus, she rather slowed her horse down to get beside Tarisilya's mare. Right now, the still quite young Lórien elf was the only one capable of distracting her from her grief at least from time to time.

After the disagreement, the mood was even lousier than before, and nothing changed about that until the rest that they took the evening before they would arrive at the Gap of Rohan. A short stop for a festive small gathering was planned there.

Provided that Éomer, the ruler of the realm after his uncle's death, could even spare a few hours in spite of all his new duties. The young man had left Gondor only hours before the four travelers but had been able to set a far brisker pace and surely had arrived at his home with most of his soldiers by now.

Though Aragorn wasn't too comfortable at exuberant celebrations, right now, the prospect of a little wine, dancing, and the cheerful voices of the slightly unrefined Horsemasters was actually a pleasant one. At least none of them would be able to continue moping soon. He was honest enough to admit that the continuous gloom mostly came from Legolas' and his quietness.

In contrast, it seemed to do the two she-elves very good to catch up on how the other had fared in the last centuries. On the side, that gave Aragorn a chance to overhear a few new stories about Arwen's life before their first meeting.

He himself didn't even try to start a reasonable conversation with Legolas anymore, not even once they had put up the tents and the campfire was burning. His friend was far too busy with the conflict heading his way, about finally revealing to his father that he loved an elf from a hostile realm. And when it wasn't that, the elf was pondering, his thoughts, similar to Aragorn’s, were occupied by the memories of the war, especially of the violence he'd personally been confronted with in Rohan. And with that, he didn’t let anyone help him so far anyway.

Well, Aragorn hadn’t had much sleep lately; this night was as good as any to catch up. Before he could retire though, he noticed that he could spot only one horizontal figure in the tent that Arwen and Tarisilya would stay the night in. One he would have recognized among thousands of others, even in the darkest night.

Arwen was hardly moving in her doze; her body still needed much rest. She didn't even seem to have noticed that her companion wasn't around.

As Legolas, usually the epitome of exaggerated worry when it came to his partner, sat by the fire impassively, at least he apparently knew why Tarisilya had cleared out.

Nevertheless, Aragorn rather patrolled the small clearing of the fir-covered piece of this forest once more. After all, he had pledged to do everything he could, so that nothing would happen to Tarisilya on this journey; he took that responsibility very seriously.

While elves were masters of silent movement and disguise, as someone trained by the Dúnedain for decades, Aragorn knew what to look out for. Soon, he could follow the prints of Tarisilya's naked, narrow feet to an oak tree at the edge of a hillside.

"Losing you is truly a life's work," Tarisilya's amused voice sounded in the tree top before he could even raise his head. "Come sit with me, Your Majesty."

"I don't climb trees for conversations. I'm not doing that for your betrothed, and neither for you. On a branch, you can find me only on two occasions: on the hunt or if there's a talan up there." Aragorn leaned against the trunk instead. "Asking you to not call me that until the coronation is probably just as useless as addressing you as 'Princess of Mirkwood' in return, isn't it? What is it that drives you on a tree suddenly?"

"Only the wish for a little solitude." Tarisilya hugged her knees and looked up, the scattered glistening of stars mirrored in her green brown eyes. "Until a few years back, I always found comfort in the moon when yearning or grief occupied my mind too much for sleep. But now the night is grim, and the stars have sharp edges. The splendor of the Elves on Middle-earth is paling. Even the sky is weeping. Since I lost my family to this fate, the moon can’t create light inside of me anymore. I know you understand that. Your beloved, as well, has lost the blaze of the stars. The strength she bears that with, gives me power as well to stand up for this world as long as it will be my home. I should rather talk to her about it, but Arwen is still very battered. I don't want to upset her."

Aragorn's hand briefly clenched around a branch. He'd already had a similar conversation with Legolas in the Houses of Healing before the battle, and since then, his sympathies for a little too much self-pity hadn't increased. On the contrary.

He had to take a deep breath to not sound too dismissive. "Please don't get me wrong, but you will see your family again, won't you? How long will you stay on Middle-earth with Legolas before you will get on a boat in Mithlond as well? A hundred years, maybe two hundred? Measured against your lifetime, that’s only a breath you have to spend apart from the ones of the love. The light of the Evenstar however will never shine for Arwen's family again, who is also my own, no matter how long they would stand at Valinor’s harbors in longing."

Too late, Aragorn realized that he was doing exactly what he had accused Legolas of quite recently: He vented his pain on a being that didn't deserve it. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to trivialize your pain."

"And far be it from me to feed yours. A thousand years apparently weren't enough to master the ability to find the right words." Tarisilya sighed in frustration.

"You’re not my only victim. Not even when it is about the elf I love, I’m able to voice my thoughts right. Yet I hoped so much, it would get better, now that we are finally together. Here, at least."

She pointed at the hilly surroundings. "After all, this is where he asked me to marry him. It’s probably that memory, stoking his fear of the future. I'm _so_ close to riding to Mirkwood and cut a certain stubborn Elven King down to size, just so I don't have to see that look on Legolas' face anymore. As if he doesn't have enough baggage of the war to carry; and the worst wound hasn’t even started to close yet. But I don't need to tell you that."

"I know what you mean. Unfortunately, I can’t find proper access to him right now either. Have Legolas face an army of orcs and he will count out loud how many his arrows kill. Sit him down with his father and his voice falls silent. We've argued about his behavior often enough. In our next fight, I'm afraid I'll have to hit him with the handle of my sword to get the words into his thick head." Aragorn forced himself to smile. "If you wish, I'll give it another shot anyway. He can't get any angrier with me than this journey already made him. Just do me a favor and keep on caring for Arwen a little in return."

"A fair deal, and definitely not a punishment. I'll do what I can, Your Majesty." Satisfied, Tarisilya jumped to the ground and went back to the others by Aragorn's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mîl nín = my love


	2. Chapter 2

The first passage of the journey ended at the little villages right at the Gap. Whispers arose in many places when the riders approached an older, small fortress within immediate sight of the narrow that King Éomer had settled in for the time of the works in this area, along with his closest advisors. For a change, the gossip wasn't revolving around Aragorn though. He was pretty sure that most of these people couldn't even know yet who he was.

Their eyes were mostly glued to the elves. A few men seemed cautious or even mistrustful, others pleasantly surprised. Many of them might know what a great help some of the Firstborn had been for them in this terrible last year, or they were even recognizing Legolas – Aragorn thought to remember one or two men from battlefields.

In this region, the progress of the repairs was plainest to see since Éomer personally oversaw the organization, which was an important motivation for the war-weary people. Hardly any rubble was left anywhere, the dead had been buried. Half burnt-down houses had been rebuilt, fields were being newly tilled. Life was more and more got back together again.

After so many days of silence, the view produced even more anticipation for getting some peace together with old friends for a little while. All the bigger was the annoyance when the group was being stopped before it even came within reach of the fortress, by an Éored, one of these rider divisions, Rohan's warriors were so famous for, that surrounded enemies with fierce speed and brandished weapons. It was a smaller number than the 120 members such a group was usually being made up of; the losses suffered in the war were still noticeable among these people as well. Nevertheless, they were dangerous.

It felt a little too familiar for Aragorn to grab his sword in defense of his life in these lands. He was getting sick of it.

In Legolas' eyes, however, he saw an amused spark when he held his bow at an askew angle out towards one of the warriors whose arrow was pointed at him, aiming for one of the few spots the typical red and silver armor left out, leaving no doubt about who would be faster in the showdown Elf versus Man. For a moment, the elf even seemed to forget his concern for Tarisilya.

That might be mostly because she'd obediently followed his constant cautioning though, dismounting immediately and looking for cover between Arod and her horse.

"There is no reason for us to fight. We are being expected," Aragorn explained reassuringly.

"Then why do you visit the ruler of Rohan armed?" The leader of the troop, a middle-aged Rohir with black hair – unusual for this folk – was the first to lower his spear.

After eyeing the visitors up and down, the sight of the elves at least seemed to relax him a little. "You will understand that so shortly after the war, His Majesty's guards cannot be careful enough. Especially when someone arrives on such an animal." The man's expression showed vague fear when he pointed at Tarisilya's horse.

"Suspicion is only natural in times like these, between the leaders of two folks, it should not prevail though. Maybe as a token of the good relations between Gondor and Rohan, we all should refrain from targeting each other. Legolas." Aragorn took his hand off Andúril.

Only reluctantly, his friend lowered his bow. "You should treat the future King of your neighboring country with a little more kindness, Rohirrim."

"Your Majesty!" The leader immediately paled a shade when he understood whom he was dealing with here.

"Take your weapons down!" he snarled at the other warriors.

"It wasn't my intention …"

Aragorn interrupted him with a short gesture. "It's good to see, the Rohirrim take care of their leader so well. If you could take us to him now?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. My name is Saphras. I'm honored to accompany you."

Again, the man turned to his people. "Scatter out and alert the others. Secure the area. Once the word is going around that both Kings are staying in Rohan, the enemy will learn as well."

"You overestimate the firepower of guideless creatures," Legolas mentioned when the men headed out. "So shortly after Sauron's fall, no one would risk an attack on a well-guarded base."

"With all due respect to your optimism, Master Elf: There already have been attacks by orcs who are still hostile to the Free Folks. The Rohirrim do not want to lose a leader yet again."

Bitterness soaked these words, but then Saphras changed the subject, his face lightening up. "It is my pleasure that you are still doing the Rohirrim the honor of using our magnificent animals. I do know Arod …" He eyed the bright stallion with a kind of tender admiration few non-Rohirrim warriors showed for their mounts. "This chestnut though, where does it come from? My eyes are trying to deceive me. They tell me, it's the horse of the deceased Prince."

"You're right. After Théodred's death, Brego gallantly faced each and every battle by my side and saved my life more than once. Until fate might part us, I have no reason to cancel our good teamwork."

Aragorn answered the stallion's benevolent snort by patting his strong neck. Brego always knew exactly when it was about him.

Even Legolas found his smile again when he remembered that battle after which, for a short while, the Fellowship had been sure they had lost Aragorn – until Brego had brought him safely to Helm's Deep.

Tarisilya didn't smile. The agitation that Manyala caused Saphras bothered her too much, the way he stressed keeping distance from the mare as if he could catch a contagious disease, while the captain regarded Arwen with more than one fascinated side glance.

The memory of the disfigured black Mearas – allegedly the last of their kind – that the Nazgûl had ridden, was obviously still too present for the people here. These animals had only been a legend for a long time.

Besides, owning Mearas was actually reserved solely for the high nobility of Men, in rare cases for elves of noble blood. Not only were they more intelligent, stronger and faster, too, than most horses on Middle-earth; usually they only suffered such riders on their backs. Most people only knew Mithrandir's Shadowfax as the only exception to that rule.

That elves possessed many abilities surpassing Men's imagination, therefore maybe making this particular phenomenon possible for a second time, the soldier might accept, but he visibly didn't like it. It was probably only Aragorn being there with her that saved Tarisilya from uncomfortable questions or even the demand to give back the horse to its rightful owners.

But the mare's origin wasn't the main problem. It was her fur color.

In front of the fortress gate, Saphras suddenly cut Tarisilya off. "Wait. I'm sorry but the mare has to stay out. Wherever this animal might come from, it's evil."

"As you wish. Henceforth, I shall keep out of this realm myself," Tarisilya replied, as composed as possible. "It saddens me that even the masters of these creatures of love turn away from those horses that have been defiled enough by Sauron's hand already."

Manyala started to prance, pushing backward between Arod and Brego. She understood very well that she wasn't welcome in this place.

"Wait. Let us talk about this quietly." Aragorn looked back and forth between the parties, frantically pondering how he could mediate. This was not how he had pictured the arrival.

"There's nothing to talk about, Your Majesty. Through the years, orcs stole nearly all the black horses from Rohan, as you should know." The situation was clearly repulsive to Saphras, but he didn't retreat one step. The fear of the evil only just banished from this world in his intensive bright blue eyes outweighed his respect for the Firstborn. "Nearly none are left here. And black Mearas especially are only part of ghost stories, old women sing at the campfire. The mare must be one of Sauron's creatures. On the outside, she might be tamed but she brings darkness to these realms."

"Darkness commanded by a she-elf? Very unlikely, Captain, don't you think?"

"Your Majesty!" Saphras dismounted in a flash and bowed when Éomer approached them. "I apologize for keeping your visitors. I didn't want to bother you with this trifle."

"Our own riders disowning our most beloved and precious possession is hardly a trifle."

Éomer pushed the subject aside for the moment and greeted Aragorn with a quick hug. "I'm glad you could make it."

He regarded Legolas who had stayed on his horse just like Tarisilya, with the hint of a bow being due to members of other royal houses, while Arwen paid her respect to the young King with a polite curtsy and told him her name.

"It is my pleasure to finally meet the elf who will be taking care of Gondor's King in the future. So far, I've only been allowed to share your company from afar in a sick camp. Just a moment …"

Under the disconcerted looks from Saphras and of several attendants in the court, Éomer unceremoniously grabbed Manyala's reigns and led her towards the fortress. "I don't like talking to my guests outside my door. Don't you want to introduce me to the lady by your side, Legolas? Sadly, our paths didn't cross at Cair Andros either."

"If you allow, the Lady will do that herself." After a moment of bafflement, Tarisilya dismounted and thanked Éomer for intervening with a deep bow. "Tarisilya Vandriniel. My friends call me Ilya. And this is Manyala. Her twin brother Matis and her were a gift by Lady Galadriel when they were but foals. Their ancestry has always remained unknown to me. Matis was granted the honor of traveling to the Undying Lands with my brother, while Manyala keeps on standing by my side here. She saved me more than once. I love her to bits."

"She must be a gift of the Valar to this world then after no rider laid eyes on a black horse of this blood for half an eternity. And no one shall ever speak ill of an animal of such dignity again." Éomer regarded his captain with a peculiar glance.

He pointed at Manyala's back and got in the saddle when Tarisilya silently nodded.

The mare threw her head back unwillingly a few times but made no move to rear up or even proceed against Éomer with the brutality, the Mearas' forefather once had killed the first King of Rohan with, before Eorl had tamed him then. Mearas knew whom they were obliged to carry. However, Manyala didn't leave Tarisilya out of her sight for even a second and made it clear that she would give the King a lot more trouble if he should try to take her further than across the courtyard once in all three gaits.

"A really outstanding animal." Éomer gave Tarisilya back her mare, nowhere near being out of breath from the short exercise.

"All of Manyala's life, this friendship will accompany both of you, though I hope it won't be necessary anymore that she has to hurry to your rescue. If your way should ever bring you here for a long time, milady, you would do me an invaluable favor if you allowed me to breed this mare to one of my stallions and then allow the offspring to stay in Rohan. So the sight of horses of the night one day may no longer elicit fear but awe in people."

"If you stop calling me 'milady', that can be arranged at some point." Tarisilya laughed in surprise and embarrassedly nestled up close to Manyala's neck. Since she hadn't gotten much out of Legolas in the last days, such great interest, and a stranger's no less, visibly did her good.

"I don't mean to be impolite, Your Majesty, but we came a long way, and more is yet ahead of us." As if that smile aimed at another man had shaken him up, Legolas broke his silence. "If you could tell us where we can look after our horses … If possible, without them coming too close to stallions in their best years right there and then."

"Our grooms will take care of that." Éomer deliberately ignored the humorous dig and waved at two men who were curiously hanging about by the stables.

"Follow me, my friends. While these are merely transitory accommodations, they shall still provide you with commodious shelter. You really do look like you could use some rest."


	3. Chapter 3

"Though I know you haven't told us everything in our meeting in Minas Tirith: The reasons you did give us would already suffice for me to travel for the last time before the duty monopolized me entirely, my friend. Your people will understand, do not worry too much about that. Gondorians have always been a little more considerate than my own folk." With a thoughtful side-glance at Aragorn, Éomer took a big sip from his mug.

They were sitting at the edge of the celebration hall, in the shadows of a number of columns. Aragorn had hardly touched his ale in an hour. He tried not showing too clearly that he just couldn't really be into this, especially since he was missing the partner by his side. The men more than deserved this distraction from the hard labor, no matter how much he was longing for sleep by now.

"I hope so. It wasn't an easy decision."

"Well, you do have quite a decent substitute, as far as I can tell. It makes me happy, how well my sister seems to be faring with the Steward. Things are moving forward between them pretty quickly, from what I hear. I couldn't imagine a better city for Éowyn to spend her life in than Minas Tirith. Except for Edoras, of course." Éomer gave his famous roaring laughter that did lack some of its usual levity though.

And for a good reason. "Lately, I've been worrying about your elvish companion though. After what happened during the battle of these lands … That the scars have closed, I can see with the naked eye; but as someone who knows the despicable torture techniques of a couple of Dunlending tribes, I can't help but wonder how the Prince is doing on the inside. I would approach him myself, but somehow, the two of us always get off to a bad start." He grimaced, self-ironically, at the memory of how the four of them had back then come across each other for the first time.

"That runs in the Prince's family, I'm afraid. And at my first meeting with him, I didn't fare any better myself, if that's any consolation."

Aragorn didn't plan to elaborate in detail on something, especially not in public, that was so personal for his friend, but he was very aware that in this one terrible night, Éomer had been one of the few fearing for Legolas just like the members of the Fellowship. He owed him at least freeing him of this stupid touch of guilt. While this thing had indeed happened close to the Rohirrim's fortress back then, in sober retrospect, it mainly could have because of Legolas' own carelessness.

"Even today, I frequently have trouble getting close to him when it comes to his private life. As a healer, I did what I could. I'm afraid, Tarisilya has to take care of the rest. And since she's already managed that quite well when she stopped for a rest in Helm's Deep, I'm trying to trust her in that respect."

"And I do trust you, in spite of many a secret that you keep from me, my friend." Éomer couldn't bite back another askew grin in light of that disclosure of elvish visits in his fortress.

He started to add something but that was when one of his advisors, quite drunk already and with big stains of the harsh-tangy traditional drink on a once-white tunic, approached him to give him a slap on the back. "The men demand a speech from their King!"

Éomer rolled his eyes in such a way that the man couldn't see. "Excuse me, Aragorn. You surely know a leader's duties better than anyone."

Aragorn grinned sympathetically but then his thoughts strayed on. Time and again, he fleetingly looked around the room, avoiding the soldiers' curious glances. Many of them still suffered wounds from the big battles, some even showed bad scars and mutilations. This area just still elicited too many dark memories to really be able to enjoy a party.

And a distraction from it, he couldn't find seeing as Tarisilya and Arwen were resting and Legolas rather brooded away alone in his room than giving him a hand here. It hurt, getting ignored by one of his closest friends of all people for days. Maybe Aragorn could seek talks with the elf again after all. With regard to Thranduil, he wouldn't be able to give him much advice as long as the anticipated conflict had not even begun yet. In spite of quite a few past meetings, Aragorn didn't know the Elvenking well enough for that.

But maybe he could at least make sure that Legolas didn't slip into that abyss that waited for him, once he would consciously remember that thing in Helm's Deep again. Aragorn hated leaving patients out of sight who needed him, and Tarisilya would surely be grateful for his efforts.

As Éomer started to speak, Aragorn immediately rose to his feet. No one would notice him leaving now. And after all, he had stayed for exactly as long as decency had commanded.

Asfaloth's actual owner Glorfindel had always told Arwen that if you wanted to learn the truth about someone, you had to listen when they were talking to their horse. You never lied to those animals; you told them things, you wouldn't even entrust your closest friend with. And that was what she did this night.

She had nowhere else to go right now but the spacious stall, the Rohirrim had placed Asfaloth in. That stubborn Rohir-captain had kept showing up at the door of the room assigned to her, to ask if she wanted to keep him and the others company in the big hall; at some point, she’d run. Thanks to senses that due to her choice against immortality reacted to a more limited extent than before but were still finely adjusted, Arwen could hear the loud music and the laughter from here anyway.

In the light of the uncertainty concerning her physical condition and also of a fear that had started to bloom in the last few days, of facing her father again after her unauthorized ride to the Black Gate, she didn't feel like celebrating. It might be a little rude to refuse King Éomer's invitation, but there would be plenty of commitments at courtly feasts in store for her in the future. As long as she still could before arriving in Imladris, she'd rather be alone.

The horses gave her the usual comfort. And moreover, the highly intelligent Mearas could understand the language of Men and Elves. Asfaloth at least gave her the feeling that she wasn't philosophizing into a vacuum when Arwen poured out her woes. Every now and then, he bristled and turned his head her way, sniffing her skin.

All of a sudden though, he seemed to turn nervous.

Arwen paused mid-sentence, listening to the building's silence. When she heard steps she knew only too well, she almost wanted to hide under the straw. Aragorn surely had to think now, that she didn't trust him anymore because she had not gone to him with her recent worries. Yet she just hadn't wanted to burden him even more. "How long have you been here?"

Aragorn greeted Brego first by fondling his head since otherwise, the stallion would probably have kicked the stall door offendedly.

"Only for a minute. Rohan's King held me up, and then I engaged in masochism once again by trying to get a certain elven Prince to talk. Actually, I thought you were asleep. Why didn't you come to us if you can't find any rest? Some entertainment would be good for you."

"As good as for the heir of Kings who's hiding in these stables right now?" Arwen crossed her arms on the stall door and rested her jaw on it. She briefly startled from pressing against the massive wood a bit too tightly and was glad that Aragorn wasn't looking her way right now. He would have fretted again immediately, though some throbbing fresh scar tissue was the least of her problems right now. The things being wrong _inside_ her body were much worse. And that was something that no celebration, no matter how joyful, could cast from her mind.

"You always see through people way too quickly, Elrondiel." Aragorn laughed quietly, not being the slightest bit serious, and said good-bye to Brego with a whispered sentence in Sindarin.

Amused about the mock polite form of that address, Arwen looked up at him. "Then I guess you should consider a spot for me in your team of advisors, Your Majesty."

"But you would never give anyone a chance to speak." Aragorn caressed Asfaloth's noble bright head as well, not without lovingly touching Arwen's cheek before.

"Well, maybe that would be for the benefit of Gondor. Some Kings, without their wives, supposedly suffered from utter helplessness." She innocently drummed her fingertips on the stall door until Aragorn and she both started laughing. That was so much better than drowning in premature sorrow.

"At least you got the audacity to make yourself heard. You should always put that to thorough use, especially with me." Aragorn stepped aside so Arwen could come outside to him but she still felt most comfortable here.

In here at least, no one would demand standards of her that she couldn't fulfill. "I won't have anything but the skill of speech anyway. Gondor, I can't impress with glorious deeds in battle. Unlike Lady Éowyn, I'm no member of a noble house recognized among Men either. And not everyone will be happy with a she-elf being part of yours. Especially not if she becomes an obstacle for the line of Kings."

So much for not lumbering Aragon with even more worries. Arwen could hardly understand herself. Middle-earth was free now; Aragorn and she could finally have the life they had always wished for. She should be overjoyed, not feel gloomy before she ever even had set foot in the Citadel of Minas Tirith.

The deep frown on Aragorn's face showed confusion as well. "Is that why you seek lonesomeness? Don't you know that I will always stand by you, mîl nín, no matter what the healers in Imladris will say?"

"Of course I know."

Though the new reminder of the reunion with her family brought back the lump in Arwen's throat, she still remained silent on that. A possible fight with her father was her business alone. For her mistakes, she had to answer herself.

"I really just needed another kind of silence than the one prevailing between the four of us for a change."

"Look at that, I'm not the only one fed up with moody Mirkwood elves."

Arwen's piercing glance had Aragorn guiltily clear his throat.

"It always takes two to quarrel, and as far as I know, Legolas didn't exactly scramble to come with us." Arwen sounded harsher than intended. Sighing, she reached for Aragorn's hand.

"I know, you tried more than once. Unfortunately, Legolas has his father's stubbornness. Let's try to talk to him together, tomorrow. We can't take the fear for Ilya from him; he had to worry about her too much at Cair Andros. But he shall at least know that we are not angry with him for finally committing to the love of his life, or for a single stupid mistake after a fight. Until then though, I rather keep on hiding from our overly charming welcoming committee."

"Saphras seems to have a talent for getting on people's nerves. Come on." Gently pulling on her hand, Aragorn motioned Arwen to follow him. "How about a pact? You keep me from either staring into my cup for hours or having to bear dramatically amplified hero tales of dozens of drunk Rohirrim, and I'll keep the captain away from you."

Arwen pulled herself together and left the stall. Fine. A few minutes of distraction then. "Well, if my King commends me to come, I will of course follow his wishes."

"You call me that one more time and I will very gladly give my chair to Saphras."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Would you take your chances? After all, I do not have to worry about you since you can easily defend yourself alone." Aragorn dodged an outraged dig into his side and went ahead, grinning broadly.

Tarisilya heard the quick, choppy steps on the dusty, sandy soil between the fortress and the paddock when her visitor left the building already. Steps that revealed just as much energy as agitation. A few minutes had been enough to assess the young King of Rohan. On the outside, he radiated exactly the strength that his people needed to feel. Inside though, his losses still exhausted him too much to dedicate his every thought to his duties.

Still, she had no doubts about his suitability for office. He just needed time. The way he had welcomed Manyala and her had left the lasting impression of a considerate, farsighted ruler.

If only all trouble could be solved so easily. Tarisilya sighed, too long and deeply, so that the light evening breeze carried the noise to Éomer.

She heard him stop for a moment, probably wondering if he knew her well enough to help with what was bothering her. But he kept moving.

Tarisilya gave Manyala a short pat on her croup so that she would make full use of the almost empty field and let off some steam. The reduced speed of the last weeks hadn't made that possible.

"Your Majesty … I hope it is not too rude of me to not celebrate with your people."

"Not at all, mil… Ilya. The men are too busy with music, ale, and war stories to even notice your absence." He shrugged, it looked embarrassed. "My people love their legends."

"That's fine. Under different circumstances, I'd have very much loved to hear them. I always loved your country."

With a wistful smile, Tarisilya thought back about exploring these lands with Vandrin and Tegiend once, on their centuries-long journey to basically every corner of Middle-earth. This largely still so unspoiled area with its passionate inhabitants and their enthusiasm for something that was so important to her as well, had been one of the lands, she had lost her heart to.

"But right now, I want to know as little as possible about war. Caras Galadhon has been largely spared by battle. Nevertheless, in some way, it was always present. I could never be sure that at some point, I wouldn't hear my betrothed's or my brother's name when it was about the dead. After the tragedy of Helm's Deep, the elf I love was nearly tortured to death, and one of my best friends among the marchwardens almost lost his life. And neither of them is doing really well yet. These kinds of stories are too heavy on my heart already. Whereas your men fought long and hard for their freedom at the very front. For them, such tales are important to process what happened."

"Probably. Still, right now I'm not exactly pining for any more of them myself."

Éomer came to stand next to her, bracing his arms on the fence as she had, a watchful eye fixed on the mare in the distance that repeatedly looked back at them as she had noticed, her owner wasn't alone. "Doesn't she like it in the stables?" In uncertain times, you actually rather kept mounts in confined spaces, especially those as precious as the horses of Rohan.

"Manyala hates to be locked in."

Tarisilya caught the doubtful side-glance from under Éomer's sand blond hair and shook her head reassuring. "She doesn't let anyone get close to her. The deaths of three wild dogs, one warg, and the spines of two thieves are on her, and that was only her first decade. Do I really need to tell _you_ about a Mearh's stealth?"

"Hardly. You should take her inside soon nonetheless. A storm is coming."

Finally, Éomer brought himself to ask the question that had originally brought him here. "Ilya, tell me, is there any trouble between you and Legolas? You're avoiding each other. You don't have to answer if it's too personal. I'd just hate to be the reason for problems, just because the two of us share an interest."

"Everything is fine." Possible differences in her relationship were no one's business, not of a likable young man with definitely too curious eyes either.

"Thank you for your efforts during our arrival. I have witnessed reactions as your captain's before. The sight of a black horse this size will surely keep on causing fear in Middle-earth for a long while."

"The situation was inexcusable. A man of clear mind should not indulge in superstition. Saphras is marked by war, just like all of my people. He recognized his mistake. It will not happen again."

Manyala seemed to be tired of running, or she had heard that it was about her; on herself, she approached the fence, a little shy still but more trustful by the hour, and finally lowered her head when she was standing right before Éomer.

He returned the gesture and quickly caressed her nose. "And I hope that someday, there'll be enough of such perfect horses in Rohan again to wipe out the memory of evil for good."

"Maybe sooner than you think."

The scene reinforced a decision that Tarisilya had already been thinking about the whole time. The thought didn't please her much, but she knew of course how important solidary between the individual realms of Middle-earth was. Lórien and Rohan were located close enough to each other to be in need of good neighborly relations. A comparatively small gesture would contribute to that.

"I'll leave her here for a while. Manyala is in the prime of her life. She will have a strong foal that I'll look upon with pride and joy whenever my path leads to Rohan."

"You want …?" Dumbfounded, Éomer turned to her. For a moment, his roundish face radiated all the youth that in spite of the war, he still carried within himself. "That's more than I can accept, Ilya."

"I insist. It's time for the beauty of the night to return to Rohan. On my journey, I cannot give Manyala all the attention she deserves anyway. It's a good time. Protect her as well as you can until I'll get her back to me, Your Majesty. That's all I ask in return."

"Not for one night will I leave her out of sight. Thank you. So you shall from this day on be called officially a Mearas-friend by the Blessing of the Rohirrim." Éomer quickly raised Tarisilya's right hand to his face and breathed a hardly noticeable kiss at her knuckles.

"I will of course provide you with one of my proudest horses for your onward journey."

Tarisilya's answer got stuck in her throat when she looked away, embarrassed by the very mannish and unfamiliar gesture, and saw Legolas standing in the main entrance of the fortress.

When her partner caught her glance, he turned away abruptly and went back inside.

"Something wrong?" Éomer, without the sharp sight of an elf, couldn't make out much from this distance.

" _Now_ you are the reason, Your Majesty."

Tarisilya arduously swallowed her frustration about the ridiculous situation and turned towards the stables. "Get her inside, please. I want to see if she's obedient enough for a longer stay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: Incidents being referred to throughout the stories can be mostly found in former parts. In this chapter, for example, Ilya is recalling Legolas' and Aragorn's first battle together, when they fought some Haradrim in pt. #1. Legolas was stabbed through the chest with a sword that day. There's also some more references to the incident during the Battle of Helm's Deep in pt. #2 where Legolas has been tortured by two Dunlendings. Ya know, just in case you want to read stuff up. I know we're all here for the drama and the h/c ;).

"It's time, Ilya."

"I know, my prince. We are ready."

Tarisilya slowed her stallion down to a walk and praised him for getting the first test ride on the training ground over with so well. Tercelborne's gaits weren't as soft as Manyala's, and the sturdy grey animal seemed still slightly immature altogether, but his speed was impressive, and they got on well with each other; that was what counted.

She gave a signal to Éomer who was standing at the fence that everything was alright and stopped next to Legolas then.

After he had failed to show up in her room all evening, she hadn't expected him to come to her now. And with her fully packed bag over his shoulder no less, that she could just as well have carried herself – probably something like a peace offering.

Maybe the rest of the journey wouldn't proceed that unnervingly. "Thank you." She took the two pouches from him, tied together with thick cords that she threaded through the ring at the saddle's front. Her hands were shaking, she noted sullenly. A small part of her felt guilty. This thing yesterday hadn't needed to happen.

When the string slipped from her grasp a second time, Legolas put his hand on hers and helped her. "Please forgive my absent-mindedness, Ilya. There's very much I have to think about so shortly after the war. Now that the shock starts to fade, memory and emotion come that in battle always had to be in hiding. And not only because of Helm's Deep; that is still very far away. But that I killed everyone and everything in our way without hesitation, doesn't mean, it has left me cold. I wish I could attend to this coping at home instead of on a journey through half of Middle-earth, that's all."

Tarisilya would have appreciated Legolas telling her that right away, but she was certain that in this regard, he could change still. After all, in spite of a thousand years of belonging together already, they were only just beginning their relationship. They had never had more than a few days at a time together. "We'll have much time to process all that. But for that, I need strength. To help you deal with this, I need distance first myself. My body and mind are still weak."

To show him that she would still be there for him anytime, even though they both needed to be a little alone right now, she caressed his face lovingly with her fingertips, brushed his soft, gold blond hair from his forehead. She liked how he looked right now, without the traditional three braids that kept annoying strands away from his eyes in battle. "Keep it down. It looks good on you." When she noticed how much he enjoyed her affection, and that things were as alright again as they could be right now, she suddenly very much felt like kissing him. But for a start, she had never taken that step herself …

And then she had a funny feeling, such intimacies were improper in public, at a royal court, even at such a temporary one like this fortress. She took a shy look back over her shoulder to see if they were still being watched, but Éomer was no longer standing there. Despite the fact that they had not even said good-bye yet and that Aragorn and Arwen were already waiting for departure in the court. "His Majesty apparently wants to ensure, he won't cause trouble for me again."

"Do you seriously think, I was angry with _you_ last night? Is that what I brought about?" Sighing, Legolas crossed his arms half on the saddle, half on Tarisilya's left leg, with his head tilted to the side. "You think I trust you so little, after everything that you did for me?"

"No." Suddenly she thought the notion absurd herself. They had waited for each other for centuries. There was probably hardly a couple on Middle-earth for whom there was less cause for such feelings. "But then please don't just run away next time."

"That was better, believe me. No matter the contrary tales they tell about me, ada _did_ teach me a bit of diplomacy. In that mood, the King should better not have run into me. And neither did I have the impression, you were yearning for my company yesterday. That was because of me too, I know that but … You _did_ know where my guest chambers were, elwen."

"Actually, we're both too old to pout, yes."

Was Tarisilya really just apologizing for Legolas acting like an elfling yesterday? Anger wanted to flare up in her again, but finally, she put it aside with a shrug. Maybe she just was a little too good-natured.

And Legolas knew exactly from more than one occurrence how it felt when he _really_ made her mad. He'd hopefully know better than to ever risk that again.

"I do admit, I would have welcomed more distance from the King, especially considering the relationship with the Princess of Dol Amroth, he's just about to start, but even that … Men who fought side by side in war shouldn't know distrust like that; I'm aware of that. I've been irritated for a moment, that's all."

Legolas stepped aside so Tarisilya could ride through the open gate. "His Majesty is surely just busy. The necessity of good-byes ceases with the firm intention to meet again soon. And since you have an important reason to visit Rohan again …" He followed Tarisilya's wistful look to the paddock and squeezed her hand, to show her that he knew how much she would miss Manyala, even if it was only for a short time. "Nothing will happen to her here."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

On the way to the others, Tarisilya spotted Éomer's stout figure at the fortress entrance after all, between the ones of his men with whom he was holding a morning meeting. They shortly nodded at each other, with a smile of mutual respect. Everything else, they had told each other the evening before. Tarisilya knew this habit of a lack of farewell rituals from Legolas in the past, but on this day, she felt for the first time how much that really helped in such situations. At least her eyes stayed dry.

"I just wish I could be there when she gives birth then. If she's just as afraid of this big step in her life as I am, she'll need me."

This revelation visibly confused Legolas, but Tarisilya only spurred Tercelborne on to a quicker walk when he wanted to ask. That, for a change, was a subject _she_ didn't want to talk about right now.

The mood was and should remain glum. This just wasn't a pleasure trip. Yet again, Tarisilya wished that they would reach Imladris soon.

The next section of the journey actually started quite well.

Legolas indeed acted more sociably than previously. And especially a lot more attentively towards Tarisilya.

In spite of his ongoing alertness towards the surroundings, for instance, he listened way more closely to her occasional conversations with Arwen about the last centuries than first she did even realize. Including little details, like how on their long journey back then, Tegiend and Vandrin had reluctantly shown her how to handle a bow at least somewhat properly. Just in case she would ever come into a situation where she would have to defend herself alone. She wasn't particularly good at it, but at least not completely incompetent either.

During the next of the few short rests they took, without much ado, Legolas thrust his beloved bow that the Galadhrim had once carved for him, into her hand. And that despite his aversion against she-elves skilled in healing going to battle, at least outside of war emergencies, that Tarisilya knew only too well from her father and Lord Elrond. One that she did share to some extent, though she often wished to be able to defend herself better. That Legolas wanted to help her with that of his own accord, she gave him great credit for. It was his way to apologize, she could live with that well.

On the side, by teaching her in the art that he had perfected so much himself, he at least was able to tear himself from his heavy thoughtfulness for a while. Besides, it made Legolas laugh, whenever one of Tarisilya's shots at a tree trunk went so wide that Arwen at some point rather got herself to safety, accompanied by dramatic ranting.

Aragorn did his bit to relax the mood by allowing Tarisilya to use his weapon because the huge, silver glistening bow of her betrothed was a bit too long for her arms after all. Every now and then, Tarisilya and he swapped some ideas about the ways of medicine, too, and his descriptions stirred the wish in her to visit the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith soon.

But then they arrived in Dunland.

Tarisilya only really realized that something was off when Legolas exhibited his exaggerated protective instinct again, frequently staying behind the group with Arod and hardly leaving Tarisilya out of his sight anymore. In the previous weeks, his eyes had never searched the barren, rolling countryside that often. Every conversation bothered him noticeably, his senses were fully focused on the surroundings.

Only the suddenly so haunted, constantly fleeting look in his eyes finally amde Tarisilya understand. The time of suppressing his memories would maybe be over sooner than thought. In these lands, Helm's Deep was far too present.

From that point on, she hardly had a quiet minute herself anymore. Much too clearly, she saw that one night in her own head, when she had ridden to see Legolas because she had felt, he was in mortal danger. The wounds, all that blood … And his memories that during the healing, had become her own when their souls had touched.

In dreams, these images returned, then she startled from her short sleep phases in the saddle every time, the faces of these two men that she knew only from Legolas' thoughts, flashing before her eyes once more.

Their dirty laughter, their pleasure with exacting revenge for the defeat at the Hornburg on at least one of their enemies … Many Dunlendings tribes had belonged to the most terrifying of Sauron's henchmen. And unlike the few Haradrim responsible for another scar on Legolas' chest, not exactly a small one either, some of these men didn't confine themselves to mindless brutality. They had a reputation for rather bringing their victims to their knees with humiliation and abuse. They had never gotten over losing their country to the Rohirrim, and for this wounded honor half an eternity ago, they got back at their enemies whenever, and whatever way they could. These people had been happy to join Mordor to move in on the other folks.

Cause and effect that no side was wholly innocent of. Wars of men raged more horrifying than elves could imagine as Legolas sometimes said, usually only saddened by this fact.

Actually _being_ in Dunland now was different though. These two men had achieved what millennia before had not: There was hate brewing in Legolas. And fear. Not for himself. The protective wall in his mind around what had been done to him, Tarisilya had personally built for a reason. The fear her betrothed had for _her_ , was bad enough for him.

When he was being told that Dunland was as good as deserted right now and that these peoples' combat strength – especially without orcs by their side – was hopelessly inferior to a capable man and a trained elf, he pretended to be calmed by that. But Tarisilya could usually tell when he was lying.

Crossing this country once more caused silence, no matter how much Aragorn and Arwen at least were trying to not get worked up about it.

Now they had almost reached Eregion, fortunately, and Tarisilya actually planned to retire with Legolas for a while, to try and comfort him. If not by words that he just couldn't accept right now, then maybe a close embrace would do at least.

Relieved to finally be able to stretch again, she swung out of the saddle, maybe with a little too much momentum … Und that was when her senses suddenly failed her.

Waking up after bad dreams was always the hardest, especially when there was no hand to wipe away your tears. It took Tarisilya almost ten minutes before she dared to open her eyes, afraid that someone next to her could only be waiting for her to stir, to continue where they had stopped.

In the war, she had suffered from this condition every time that the fear for those she loved or herself had grown too big once more. Sometimes, her brother had then sat by her bedside at least, if he hadn't been on duty at the borders himself, to wake her up by gently caressing her forehead.

Today, she was alone, somewhere in a restrictive, stuffy room – a tent ... Sitting up abruptly, she realized almost immediately why she had been asleep in the middle of the day as the world started to spin around her. More than once, Tegiend had found her with a qualm like that on the floor of her talan, that since her father's departure to Valinor back then, she had only left to care for her mare from time to time. Actually, Tarisilya had thought to be better, but the last weeks had been more exhausting than she had wanted to admit to herself.

With a hint of offense, she eyed the empty spot next to her. Tegiend wasn't here anymore to raise her up, but he had left her under the watch of another elf, hoping, he would take care of her just as well. Now this elf was leaving her alone again, just when she needed him?

Still a little dazed, Tarisilya opened the tent flap to get a breath of fresh air and cast away these unfriendly considerations. Legolas couldn't hold her hand all day; she didn't want that anyway and couldn't expect it of him.

"Are you feeling any better?" Aragorn saw her getting up, a little wobbly still and quickly offered her his arm to brace herself on. "You should stay in bed. You've asked too much of yourself, and so did I."

"Don't worry." She forced herself to smile while her gaze wandered over the steep slope where they had set up camp. She couldn't spot anyone but Arwen's silhouette cowering by the fire. "I was tired, that's all. I'm afraid I won't like it, but where is my betrothed?"

"Completely in his element." Now Aragorn was smiling too. "On the hunt. He wants you to have a proper piece of meat before we carry on."

Actually, Tarisilya should have been ashamed now for thinking of Legolas so irritably for a moment, though he was being out and about only for her. Instead, something inside of her clenched up.

She was glad when Aragorn helped her sit down. There was no reason to suppose, there was trouble. Her betrothal ring would once more have shown her with its fateful red glow if Legolas had been hurt. Still, she didn't like it that he wasn't with them.

"So far, no one has been hostile towards us on the way." Aragorn probably had noticed her look on her hand.

"I'm not bothered about his safety so much, rather about his mind. Helm's Deep is too close here." Almost by force, Tarisilya banned the mugs of these two ruthless men from her soul once more.

It would have been a good time to finally apologize to Aragorn for making him sleep in the Hornburg back then, so he wouldn't notice her. But too many things were weighing on her heart, and she quickly forgot.

She longed for her partner's return with every second more.

The anew silence visibly gave Arwen way too much time once more to brood about what she would possibly learn from her family soon. Almost impassively, she nestled under Aragorn's arm when he scooted over to her as closely as possible, to warm her skin that had recently been so unusually cool for an elf's.

For lack of other ideas to cheer her up, at some point, he started to talk about the beautiful hours that Legolas and he had spent with the Fellowship of the Ring, right after their departure from Imladris. He was surprised to realize, there had been more of those than he had been aware. A good hour passed with these amusing tales of sparring sessions with Boromir or discussions about the hobbits' exorbitant eating habits, and Arwen's occasional chuckle had him breathe again.

However, when Aragorn's eyes found Tarisilya's across the flames at some point, he paused in frustration.

The she-elf kept on sitting there slightly away from them, motionlessly, with her knees tucked to her chest and the transcendence common to her folk, staring at the edge of the woods.

Now he was growing restless as well, in a way as he had last only been in Fangorn Forest, when Legolas, Gimli and he had felt that someone was approaching them. "I'll get the horses ready. Tarisilya, please have a piece of Lembas before you mount."

When Arwen's hand closed around his just a little too firmly, he quickly shook his head. "Nothing happened to Legolas. Ilya would know that, wouldn't she? He's been gone for too long for my taste, that's all. While this is a barren land – I've wandered it often enough myself –, even our dear Samwise would have caught something by now. And in an area like this, I don't like to leave you alone. Besides, nothing compares to an elf's good hearing on a trip, right?"

He looked at Tarisilya again, certain that she had been listening.

As expected, she had already gotten up and was on the way to her horse, dutifully waving one of these small pieces of bread wrapped in leaves from the elven realms, to signal him, she had understood the reprimand. Now at the latest, she would have been ready to ride off alone as well.

Sometimes, you didn't need Lady Galadriel's clairvoyant abilities to sense trouble on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ada = father  
> * elwen = heart


	5. Chapter 5

It was, fortunately, a simple matter, following the trails Arod had left in the hard soil. Moreover, thanks to the silence of the sparsely populated region, Tarisilya's and Arwen's fine senses picked up on every single sound of the surroundings, including bristling and a horse's hooves pawing the ground in the distance.

Aragorn rode ahead though Tarisilya in particular would have preferred tearing rashly, checking her again and again. His eyes were ceaselessly searching the ground.

When Arwen suddenly fell back and even dismounted then, he turned his head, alarmed. "Mîl nín?"

His partner bushwhacked into the undergrowth of some nearly leafless bushes. "Asfaloth is being restless. He got scent of something we can't see. Look!"

Almost at the same moment, Aragorn caught sight of a heap of leaves too. "Asfaloth is right as usual. In our hurry, I wouldn't have paid attention to that far-off part. The tracks on the path were too plain to look for anything else." He silently cursed himself for this rookie mistake.

Arwen knelt down, not without moaning almost inaudibly under the pressure against her still so fresh wound, pushed the leaves aside, and stroked the ground below. "Men, a whole group, judging by how chaotic the prints are. The track is cold. They must have been here days ago. And they have to know this area perfectly, given how they tried to hide their traces."

Aragorn grimly stared at the spot. "Mount. We have to leave these lands as quickly as possible."

The closer they got to another steep hill, across from the one they had been sitting on not so long ago, the more unnecessary reading tracks became. For a moment, Tarisilya regretted her decision to leave Manyala in Rohan. Due to his inexperience, this stallion didn't master the climb well. Finally, she just dismounted and ran ahead.

Whatever had happened, whatever she would see upon reaching the top where Arod was impatiently prancing away: The air already revealed, it was nothing good. It was infused with the salt of tears and the sharp smell of vomit. At least no blood.

" _Stay back_!" Now Legolas on the other side had heard her approach. He didn't sound like he was injured, yet his voice sent shivers down her back.

Her partner had last snarled at Tarisilya like that almost a thousand years ago when her brother had been attacked by wargs and she had wanted to go to his rescue. She wasn't 70 and easily stopped by an authoritative voice anymore though. And much less if she felt, something had shaken her betrothed's very soul.

And yet she wished she would have listened to him when she could finally look down at the pit on the other side. She didn't even really see Legolas perching on a shallow ledge a few feet below her. She only saw the others. The weakness that had already let her collapse earlier struck again; she toppled straight towards the almost vertical hillside.

She hardly even noticed.

Used to pathless terrain, Aragorn arrived only moments after Tarisilya and could, fortunately, catch her just in time. Later, it seemed like pure chance to him, because he couldn't remember having moved, or how he'd carefully sat the she-elf down, a few feet apart.

His whole attention was for Legolas' cruel discovery.

At the bottom of the rocky pit, seven corpses lay. The ground was covered in dried blood. Its color, of old tree bark, revealed that what had happened here, could date back only a short while ago. The dead weren't just lacking any kind of clothing but also their head. Decay and first wounds by claws and teeth of wild animals made much unrecognizable already, yet the fragile physique and missing body hair indicated, the victims were elves, four of them female. Arranged in a circle, the bodies were showing traces of mutilation, many arrows piercing the flesh being the deadliest but not the worst. Death, the arrival in the Halls of Mandos, had in the end surely been the only mercy for these beings, after they had been tortured with daggers, swords, sticks, and whatnot.

Where thanks to the demonstrative drapery, the heads would have been, a Dunlendings' flag was spread, shredded by weather and animals as well but still recognizable. So it was indeed a few of the most despicable members of this folk painting this area red. People of the same kind that Aragorn had almost lost Legolas to in the war already.

He was the first stirring again when the clattering of sliding pebbles reached his ears. Arwen had managed the climb as well. "Wait! You shall not have nightmares of this day, too."

His partner did actually pause, hesitating. Unlike Legolas, Aragorn had not raised his voice. Instead, the weakness and shock resonating in it seemed to frighten her.

After a long moment, she came to stand beside him nevertheless. She couldn't suppress a choked cry. Arwen started to tremble all over her body, unable to move, to even turn away.

Aragorn vigorously grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. "You should have listened to me."

He was on the verge of screaming the unbridled anger out of his soul that threatened to consume him more with every second. His own hands, too, were shaking heavily. His gaze wandered over to the path where they had spotted the Dunlendings' traces. He'd easily find the group. In less than a day, with a quick ride, he'd have caught up with them.

"We have to bury them. That's more important now. Estel?" Guessing his thoughts, Arwen took his hand, flinched from the blackness in his eyes though when he turned to her.

But then his posture relaxed. Now, it was only pain and grief prevailing in him, and a trace of gratefulness for Arwen reminding him of what counted the most right now.

He closed his eyes for a moment, frantically trying to no longer see that picture before him that had been etched on his memory forever. "You have to wait here. I'll get what we need."

"Alone? But …"

"We have no choice!" Aragorn paused, forced himself to lower his head with clenched fists, taking a deep breath. It was only this horrible situation that threatened to make him lose control; he couldn't allow that. But he really had no strength for discussions right now, neither with Arwen, who would want to go with him nor with Legolas who would object as well, as soon as he would be capable of doing so again.

"I'll ride to Moria. Gimli's men are the only ones in these lands well disposed towards us. The mountains are dangerous; in the shadows of the valleys, there are probably hostile orcs and goblins still prowling around. In your condition, I can take neither Ilya nor you there, Arwen. Legolas will watch over you."

Aragorn went downhill to his friend who still seemed completely apathetic, heavily put both hands on his shoulders, and addressed him in Sindarin, so that Legolas would hopefully more likely be aware of him. "I'm back as fast as I can. Take care of them. There could be other dangers lurking in these lands too." Only when he could be sure that Legolas had understood him, he released him from his grasp.

Sighing, he approached Brego. The stallion would soon have to do more than Aragorn had ever wanted to ask of him again. "Give me this day and night. I'll be back in the morning at the latest."

Without looking back on the place where seven of the purest beings of all realms had lost their lives in such a sick way, Aragorn mounted his horse. "Noro lim, Brego. I need your speed more than ever."

It had been a forced ride that had exhausted both steed and rider and that Aragorn would never have allowed if circumstance hadn't demanded it. In little more than an hour, night would already fall. In return, they were getting closer and closer to their destination. Still, Brego sustained the killing pace without protest, as if the horse felt as well how little time they had.

While in most areas of Middle-earth, the friendly season had dawned, in the mountains defining Moria, you wouldn't notice. If that was because of the Balrog's continuing influence whose death could only bit by bit dismantle the shadows the monster had created for so long, or because of the echo of war, Aragorn couldn't tell. In any case, he could understand Brego's agitation well, his constant headshaking – he wasn't doing so well himself.

Hardly any light brightened this valley. A few unfriendly big cats, hardened by the rough life here, were hot on Aragorn's trail. More than once, one of them launched into attacking him, only chased away by well-aimed arrows that made it clear to them, they were no match for their victim. The loneliness here, where so many dwarves had lived in the old days, was crushing. The memories did the rest.

Memories of the almost palpable darkness in the mines that wanted to steal the Ring Companions' breath away. Even Gimli hadn't felt at ease in these tomb-turned halls anymore. The battle against the cave troll, the escape from the Balrog, and then … Aragorn hadn't only lost a good friend when Mithrandir had fallen into the abyss. Back then, all hope for the future of Middle-earth had seemed lost to him. That day had shown him that it took more than the experience of one life span of men and iron fighting spirit to defeat the darkness of Mordor.

Brego, not handicapped by such thoughts and therefore more attentive than his rider, suddenly bolted, stopped abruptly. In less than half an hour, they would reach the gates of Moria, but all of a sudden, the horse insistently refused to go on.

Instinctively, Aragorn's hand reached for Andúril's handle. Searching the empty walls of rock, he cursed his inattention. The sight of the dead elves had thrown him off balance more than it was good for surviving in areas like this.

He soon realized, his sword wouldn't be of any use in this situation. He heard the subtle buzz even before he spotted the outline of an arrow in the quickly dwindling light, and automatically let himself fall back in the saddle. The tip missed his face by less than an inch. Before Aragorn could look around for the shooter, he heard the bowstring snap a second time. As much as he disliked dismounting, on Brego, he was a living target, and this way, he couldn't return the attack either. From the back of a prancing horse, it was difficult to strike.

Slipping to the ground, Aragorn reached for his bow. He wasn't as brilliant a shot as Legolas by any stretch of the imagination but in general, he hit his targets. His eyes roaming in all directions in the last light, he took an arrow from the quiver fastened to the saddle and nocked. He needed just one look over the animal's broad back to know where the orc was crouching. Springing from his cover, he let go.

A pained scream and a thud not far off revealed, he had succeeded; there were still arrows whizzing his way though.

From a decent cover, shooting the orcs from their posts wouldn't have been a problem. Aragorn had experienced situations like this way too often to worry about the superior number of his enemies. He knew, he would defeat them.

For that, he had to stay behind a rearing horse though that had grown very dear to his heart. It was a pure miracle, none of the arrows had hit the animal yet. Again and again, Aragorn's gaze hurriedly wandered about but he couldn't make out any kind of shelter. There were only two options: He either fought until he would have got all the orcs, running the risk of Brego falling sooner or later, or he had to flee.

One of the enemies already aimed for the stallion who stayed by his owner's side in spite of his fear.

Aragorn yanked him out of the way by the reins instinctively, but the missile cut Brego's left shoulder.

The shooter had no time for shouts of triumph as an arrow bore into his forehead and the momentum dashed him against the rock before he even died.

Aragorn knelt down next to the collapsed horse, his jaw thrust forward. Not batting an eye, he aimed, time and again, not bothering about the missiles flashing past him anymore. Only when one of them got dangerously close to his face once more, he leaned to the side, so that the metal only scratched his temple instead of taking his eye out. A grim smile curled on Aragorn's lips. He wouldn't make dying this way a family tradition. Thanking the owner of that arrow by a well-aimed hit to his throat was a satisfaction. Aragorn had been just two years old when he had become a half-orphan. Maybe he'd been just able to balance this injustice of fate out at least a little.

When the last enemy had fallen, too, Aragorn's next thought was Brego. He was lucky to have just bent down to the horse bristling in pain to look at the wound – another arrow flew over his head, definitely too closely. But when he spun around, raising his bow again, he saw that he didn't need it anymore.

An ax blade was in the throat of the last orc, an especially ugly specimen with half bitten-off ears and an almost snow-white skin. When the weapon was pulled away, the chubby body fell from its hideout with a rumbling sound.

Visibly pleased, the dwarf who had appeared out of nowhere to kill the creature, braced himself on the weapon's handle. "Men just can't take care of themselves." Amused, he stroked his nearly knee-length, light brown beard. Dwarves harbored no suspicions against inhabitants of the west, especially since they had experienced Sauron's influence first-hand and knew that it was mostly the citizens of Gondor and Rohan who had won the war.

"Ask Gimli, son of Glóin what he thinks about that. He always blames me for having something in me that just keeps me from serious harm. I am Aragorn. My path leads me to Moria to find your people."

Aragorn regarded his savior with a short, deep nod, with one hand placed against his other shoulder, then he soothingly caressed Brego's neck. The injury fortunately wasn't too bad, just painful.

"The messenger from Mina's Tirith already told us much about you, Your Majesty." While the dwarf didn't change his casual stance, with his legs apart, when he realized whom he had just saved there, his smile deepened. "You shall lack for nothing during your visit here. Follow me."

"Wait a minute. I have to care for my horse first."

Aragorn untied the little bag from his saddle that he always hoarded a stock of healing herbs in. He pulverized a few of the leaves between his palms and mixed them with a bit of water from his already almost empty bag, applying the rubbery fluid to the wound then, after superficially cleaning it.

Brego startled, threw his head up unwillingly. Aragorn whispered soothing words in Sindarin to him, until he relaxed and let his owner bring him to stand up. Slowly, dragging the injured leg's hoof, he trotted after Aragorn, even nudged him with his nostril as if wanting to let him know, he was alright.

Aragorn patted his neck in praise and slipped him a small oat biscuit from his provisions. "I know, it burns, but it will soon numb the pain and prevent an infection."

Only now, he turned to the dwarf again. "No matter how many great things I heard from Gimli's mouth about the hospitality of dwarves, I won't have time to enjoy it. I rode like the wind to ask for your help for those who can't do so anymore."

The dwarf who was just cleaning his ax with a cloth, stopped short. "Did something happen on your journey?"

"We didn't get there in time to prevent it. Let us rather not talk about it here."

Loosely taking the reins in his right hand, Aragorn followed the dwarf as he led the way with a quiet hum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Noro lim = Run fast


	6. Chapter 6

"We've been taking care of this orc lowlife for a while, that’s crawling around here everywhere. From this side of the mountain, we can't get into the mines since the Watcher in the Water won't let us approach the door. And this thing just disappears back into the lake every time we attack it. We're stumped here. The orcs seem to have dug a tunnel through the debris at the gate. At night, they scurry through the mountains and we have our hands full with disposing of them if they become a threat." On the way to the dwarves’ temporary camp, Fori, as the unusually tall dwarf had introduced himself, explained the situation to Aragorn.

His people had at least been able to find a small cave system in the naked rock. About two dozen of the small, stout beings were romping about there, sitting over old maps of Moria and debating vividly. When Fori entered the cave with Aragorn, everyone went quiet and eyed the visitor with interest from under their hoods.

"I'm the leader of this mission, Your Majesty, appointed by Master Gimli himself. So you may now feel reassured to state your desire." Fori sank down on a stool and pointed at another one next to it.

Relieved, Aragorn accepted a goblet of wine and some stew fresh from the fire offered to him. "Please provide my horse with water as well. Brego did so much for me today that I can hardly thank him. And I will have to ask the same of him again, this time with an even bigger load."

Only when one of the dwarves started filling a bucket, Aragorn began to report. His too quiet voice revealed that he hadn't found even the slightest bit of distance to what he’d seen yet.

As he finished, the dwarves were too shocked to speak. Although millennia-old mistrust prevailed between their folk and the Elves, you didn't wish such an ending on anyone.

"You're the only ones I trust in these lands. The elves have to be properly buried. I will not leave their bodies to the wild beasts. I'm only asking you for the necessary means for this sorrowful endeavor. You will of course be paid for it."

"You wouldn't even have to ask, Your Majesty, and there is no way we will accept any money. This is a situation that moves even the heart of a dwarf deeply. Even more so, since Master Legolas shares your grief. His name will always be highly esteemed by our folk."

Fori shooed a few of the dwarves away so they would gather everything.

"Unfortunately, I’m not familiar with ceremonies, elves mourn their dead with. We don't have precious linen here, or jewelry used as burial objects. We can only offer the fabric of our tents and the tools you’ll need to dig the graves."

"That’s already more than I hoped for." Aragorn bowed his head in a gesture of deep gratitude. "There is no time for a funeral that would be worthy of these noble beings. As soon as I’ll arrive in Imladris, I will tell Lord Elrond everything, so that a memorial for the murder victims will be built at their graves."

In his head, he already roughly calculated how long the way back would take with the additional burden. "I will tell the Lord about your help and your sympathy as well. Gimli couldn't have sent anyone better than you here. You may rest assured that help regarding your problems with the Watcher will come to you soon. Elvish arrows will slay this creature within a very short time."

It was Fori's turn to bow deeply; relieved joy about this prospect lit his knobbly features. Tidings about Legolas’ and Gimli’s unusual friendship had apparently gotten busily about among the Dwarves, so Fori wouldn't flinch from accepting the help of elves in return. The recapture of Moria was too big a project to allow it to be delayed any longer.

The leader followed Aragorn to the cave exit, where his men were eagerly packing bags in the weak light of a few torches, and fastening them to Brego's saddle, which they had to climb on rocks or stools for. "I wish we could do anything else to unburden the hearts of you and Master Gimli's friend. He will be very distressed when the message of Master Legolas' grief reaches him."

Aragorn's face darkened. "You can do something indeed, and not only for Legolas or me. Judging by the traces of the Dunlendings responsible for this crime, their path will bring them close to these lands as well. Legolas and I can't bring them to justice, since we have to ride straight to Imladris. If I knew that these men can't hurt anyone anymore, that would make me sleep better."

Grimly, the dwarf put a hand on the handle of a small throwing ax on his belt. "I give you my word, Your Majesty. These people brought upon themselves the wrath of all those who have once been known as Free Folks. The dwarves won't rest until they exacted the revenge that was denied to you."

"This, as well, I will announce in Imladris. Know that the eternal gratefulness of the elvish folk goes to you already. Farewell, Fori, son of Forio."

Aragorn approached Brego, tenderly fondling the horse’s throat. "I know, your shoulder aches and actually, you’d like to be on a juicy meadow right now. There's nothing pleasant waiting for either of us for right now, I'm afraid. Run as fast as you can, my faithful Brego. But ask no more of yourself than you can achieve, because neither will I."

After a last word of appreciation, he set out, heading for one of the most difficult duties of his life.

Long, lonely hours passed before one of the elves finally stirred. Until then, they had all been all alone with their fear, their tears, their anger. Although Arwen understood it very well that her companions suffered as much from the sight of this massacre as she did, that they were not capable of any kind of conversation right now … She still felt alone and was relieved when Legolas finally got up.

But he didn't turn to her. He went further down the slope, without losing balance on the rough stones even once, and knelt down on a rock about halfway down the hill. Dusk made it hard to tell but Arwen could have sworn, his hands were trembling when he took his bow to aim at a spot at the opposite slope.

Alarmed, she tried to make out anything. Even many weeks after her decision against immortality, she still wasn't quite used to not be equipped with the same supernatural eyesight as before. Indeed, when the sun sank lower behind the hilltops, she spotted a bear almost as tall as a man that could easily become a danger to any of them, drawn here by the no longer fresh but, for hungry animals, still valuable meat.

Arwen wondered what Legolas was waiting for. Where, at the sight of one of these mentally ill Dunlendings who had done this, he probably wouldn't even have hesitated a second, he now kept his arrow pointed at the bear for almost half an hour, without moving and without leaving the animal out of his sight.

Maybe the hunter felt that or the beings so close to the bodies discouraged him; in any case, he finally trotted off, with an annoyed growl.

Legolas lowered his bow without a hint of relief. "That was only the first."

Tarisilya and Arwen both startled when someone raised their voice for the first time since Aragorn's departure. Given the situation, it sounded much too loud, downright disturbing. "It's not necessary for you two to watch this. That just burdens you even more. You better wait nearby. Arwen, keep an eye on Asfaloth, please. He'll sense it if there's danger approaching."

"What do you think will be made better if you try to spare us?" Tarisilya asked flatly. "You should have thought about that before you once more wanted to deal with everything on your own, instead of just getting us here. Besides, these are _my_ people down there, Legolas. If you think I'm gonna leave them out of sight for even a moment until they are being laid to rest, you don't know me half as well as you think."

It wasn't an awfully fair time for such a reproach, no matter how justified it was, thusly, Arwen wasn't surprised when the wall around Legolas' emotional wall became just thicker. A clearly hostile harshness settled on his whitish face. It wasn't the hour to tolerate weakness, not when right now he was the only capable fighter in the group.

"You can't even know for sure where they came from, Ilya. Please be reasonable. You're still weak, you know that. You should …"

Her eyes ablaze with anger, Tarisilya now got up as well. The scathing look on her face had her betrothed shut up immediately. Nothing could be seen of that weakness in the morning anymore.

Tarisilya, who was almost as tall as Legolas, was taking after her father Vandrin, a millennia-old elf who had made many outstanding contributions to Lórien before leaving these realms. And now they could see in her that exact same kind of strength, her father had always radiated. Straight posture, tightened shoulders, her lower jaw thrust forward, eyes that mirrored the coldness of the night – actually, all that was missing was a sword in her hand, and armor, in order to want to bring her along on a vendetta against these Dunlendings.

"I never defied your wish to not properly learn the art of fighting, not least because you always appreciated my steadfastness anyway. You should know best that I ride through all of Middle-earth, through dozens of war zones if I have to if patients need me. That I'm not wielding a weapon doesn't mean, I never saw the horrors of battle with my own two eyes. And now I'm suddenly supposed to flee? Don't you dare press me to take a role, of which you know exactly how much I hate it, Legolas. The only thing that could get me away from this pit would be a chance to wipe out these people who have defiled and killed our brothers and sisters."

Instead of backing away from this sudden aggression, Legolas let Tarisilya snarl at him without interrupting her. Only when she went silent, with clenched fists, her chest rising and falling faster and faster, the last rays of the sun revealing the first glistening in her eyes, he approached her and pulled her into his arms, held her tight as she collapsed in tears.

This time, she let herself be led away without resistance, not fully out of sight but to a spot, where, in case of an unexpected attack, a quick escape would be possible from. Legolas got her to sit down, nestled closely to his side, so her newfound energy wouldn't leave her again right away. The whole time, as he caressed her head and neck, his eyes were fixed on the hilltops in the distance. The part of him worried about his betrothed and his best friend, the part that had promised Aragorn to take care of both of them, was never unobservant.

Though Arwen knew that of course, Legolas' behavior now started to cause resentment in her as well. Why was it that his eyes always stayed dry? After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't been crying right before they had joined him already. Ever since then, there was this rigidity in him that had Arwen wonder as she so often did if he'd became like this because of was his father, unable to let himself go even in front of his closest confidants.

Her reproach stayed unspoken. That this wall inside of him prevented him from showing it, didn't mean, Legolas was suffering less than any of the others. With this kind of distance, he had probably already made it through the war somewhat undamaged. That this very wall had been burdening him now so much for a few days already because everything threatened to break through at once that had slept in obscurity for so long … With that, he needed help, not accusations. But there wouldn't be time for that before they would arrive in Imladris.

Legolas seemed to feel that Tarisilya had calmed a little and got up, after a quick kiss to her forehead, going back to the place where he had chased the bear away, not without quickly caressing Arwen's shoulder as well in passing.

"Take care of yourself."

"Actually, they already wanted to go to Valinor in the war." Legolas' naïve estimation earlier that Tarisilya wouldn't even know whom she was grieving for – just as little as Arwen who had lived in Lórien long enough to be plagued already by the same knowledge as her friend –, was still on her mind.

"Lady Galadriel told them to wait because the Gap of Rohan was too dangerous. They probably thought, now the way would be safe, especially with a marchwarden among them. The other two elves used to build instruments until the sound of music became rarer and rarer in Lórien. Two of their wives are waiting for them in the west. The third is lying down there, next to her daughter who by the way, got married shortly after your visit to Lórien, Legolas. Her husband might only learn that he'll be parted from her for a lot longer than expected now, once he sails himself one day. Depending on if the four of us make it home alive to tell anyone about all this or not."

"Of course we will. You think I can't take care of you, Ilya?"

Finally, when Legolas turned to his betrothed, so clumsily, so shocked that he almost slipped on the slope, Arwen saw what she had just been missing. His skin had turned ashen. Fine lines that she had never noticed dug into it, just from the mental image of losing Tarisilya in such a bestial fashion like the elves down there.

"Aragorn and I already guided the Ring-bearer and his friends through Moria, when these bastards of faithless Dunlendings didn't wield a single club for Isengard yet. I already feel sorry for everyone who should approach us with a raised weapon. No matter how much I'd hoped so: As long as such things can happen, war isn't over yet. And as long as it isn't, I'm not going anywhere." At the blind thirst for revenge in Legolas' darkened eyes, Arwen immediately wished the absent-mindedness back. She was almost glad when he left to continue his watch.

Anger didn't hurt as much as grief. He was really only choosing the easier way. Still, he suddenly was a stranger to her, because she realized that unlike Tarisilya and her, he didn't only have the tempting, dark wish deep inside of him to torture the Dunlendings or other hostile men with the same weapons, they had used on their victims. He would already be busy hunting them if Aragorn hadn't left him here alone. That was how much the war had changed Legolas. That was what he had been hiding the whole time behind this strict silence.

Arwen wondered how many long years – or centuries – it would take to free him from this blackness in his heart. And if thanks to this uncontrolled rage, he would maybe get himself into a situation before that Tarisilya's healing powers couldn't help with anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

At dawn, Aragorn made it back to the campsite just like planned, completely exhausted, and increasingly worried about Brego who stood still with a tremble at the edge of the slope as Aragorn unfastened the bags from the saddle, and lay down immediately when he was rid of the burden.

After throwing the cloths down to the others, Aragorn had to downright force himself to join his companions. Preparing for this during the whole ride didn't make the following one bit easier. He could tell by looking at the others who were sitting by a small campfire, that they hadn't slept all night either. And the worst was yet to come.

He didn't let his own bad emotional state show. No time for that. They had to get away from here. "There's another pit a few minutes from here. I'll look for a place suited for the graves there." Aragorn didn't bother asking if someone would help him. Leaving the elves alone here had already been more than he should have done.

After a moment of awkward silence, he took a burning log from the fire and started to leave but then paused in surprise.

Arwen suddenly had one of the bundles with the tent fabric under her arm and set about going down to the murder scene. "I'll help you."

"Nonsense." Approaching her with a shake of his head, Aragorn tried to take the bag from her, but his partner backed away immediately.

"You won't make this alone, especially not if it's supposed to be quick." Arwen's voice trembled with just the idea of what she was planning to do, but she clutched the roll so tightly as if it was her most precious estate.

Aragorn put his hand heavily on hers. "Do you know what is in store for you down there, mîl nín?"

He wouldn't need to ask Tarisilya that; as a healer, the handling of dying and dead bodies, including bodies of murder victims, could be nothing new for her.

Arwen however, unlike her brothers, had never been taking too many healing lessons with her father. The active battle had always been her biggest passion, and there, one rarely had to deal with physical damage in detail. Could Aragorn even expect her to put up with this new experience right now?

"To some extent, yes. I had to witness for centuries what orcs do to their victims." The numerous memories of this kind, of her life that had even been comparatively short by elf standards, had brought Arwen to her knees in the war already. So badly in fact that Elrond had had to fear for her life. And now they made her fragile body shudder once more. "Of many of my friends, I don't even know where they were buried because Sauron's monsters scattered their bodies in pieces over battlefields. Far too many elves had to cry for their partners, their children, or their siblings already, without knowing if they at least were laid to rest in the soil of Middle-earth. I won't allow this to end the same way." She agitatedly wiped away some tears but didn't lower her eyes for even a second.

After a last moment of hesitation, Aragorn thrust the log into her free hand. "Please light another fire close to you. It will keep the animals away."

A campfire had never taken Arwen so long. With the bodies now being only a few feet away, the ever-worsening smell of decay forced her to breathe exclusively through her mouth. She frantically avoided looking at the victims while she waited for the flames to burn high enough. When she filled a bucket with water from a stream nearby, she still tried to concentrate solely on the noises Aragorn and Legolas made on their search.

It didn't surprise her much that Legolas hadn't let Aragorn stop him from giving him a hand either.

Tarisilya on the other hand stayed in the background. Of her, the burial did indeed ask too much. And another collapse would have been anything but good for her condition after her long weakness.

Her betrothed seemed to not even have heard Aragorn's objections in his complete absentmindedness. The strength that Legolas had kept up during the watch was gone. His expression was empty, his hands were shaking more than ever. A wild animal threatening them all now would maybe even have quite a good chance.

For a few more long seconds, Arwen motionlessly stared into the flames before she took one of the clean bright cloths and used a dagger from her belt to cut it into several long pieces. She'd already got a needle and stable long threads from her travel bag earlier.

Her lips tightly pressed together, she stepped closer to the bodies but didn't make it far. Before she could stop herself, the sight and the stench had her bring up the pitiful contents of her stomach. And though she hadn't felt like revealing that to Aragorn a few minutes earlier, that reaction did not only result from the tragedy itself. It was something that centuries later, she suddenly couldn’t run from anymore.

At the second attempt, she made it to get to the first corpse and lowered herself to her knees beside it. Slowly dipping the cloth into the water, she started, best as she could, to wash the outer traces of the torments off of the dead, and to at least roughly sew the worst cuts, wherever there was enough skin left to cover already decaying organs and whitish, protruding bones. The bodies of her former fleeting acquaintances should be at least somewhat intact in their graves. That their souls too, were faring well in the Halls of Mandos, so one day they would have a chance to return to life, Arwen could only hope.

She almost startled back when her fingers unexpectedly dipped somewhere, the heel of her hand bumping into sharp edges, and she realized that there wasn’t a single intact rib in that narrow chest left. This time, with the help of shallow, arduous breaths, she managed not to retch again. That wouldn’t have gotten her anywhere now.

In the course of her sad deeds, fortunately, she slipped deeper and deeper into a stupor that had her body act on its own, her mind retreating into darkness. She had started to sing a quiet lament in Sindarin without thinking about it. Her voice was hoarse, every now and then a short sob escaped her. She fought for her breath, her composure. But she only paused every now and then to change the cloth or throw one of them into the bucket, its contents soon shimmering darkly.

Only when she wrapped the last body in the dwarves' linen, covering it at least with the most necessary protection, she realized that she wasn't alone anymore.

Aragorn and Legolas had already gotten the other corpses and buried them and now silently waited, a few steps away from her, for her to release the body of the last she-elf as well.

Only slowly, Arwen regained her orientation. With difficulty, she got up, her hand pressed to her lower belly where throbbing pain prevailed once more. A quiet scream escaped her, not only because of the growing agony. It was her heart that tried to scream by that one single, choked noise.

Aragorn was next to her immediately and tried to take her hands away from her face, let go of her though when she shoved him away with her elbows.

This wasn’t about her right now; the two of them should rather complete their task so they finally could all get out of here before the monsters responsible for all this would possibly come back indeed. After what she’d just seen, Arwen then couldn’t have guaranteed for anything anymore then.

Her eyes fell on her blood-stained skin, the condition of her clothes, showing her efforts as well. Again, the bitter taste of bile wanted to spread in her mouth. When Aragorn tried to grab her arm again, she just hurried off, towards the stream, not minding her surroundings. She hardly noticed twigs and thorns cutting her cheeks, or how she twisted her ankle once. Only when she sat down by the streamside, she felt the unpleasant throb in her foot. Compared to what was going on inside of her, that paled. Washing off all traces of this morning with thorough, almost brutal movements didn't help either.

Only when someone came to stand next to her and put a hand on her back, she could breathe deeply again. Warmth spread from this hand that had a positive effect not only on her muscles, tense from the effort but on her soul as well as if someone had given her a coat on a cold winter night.

"Thank you. You didn’t need to do that. These were not your people.”

"You can’t be serious.” Arwen's eyes searched her friend’s on the water surface; she bitterly shook her head. "That I haven’t been in Lórien for a while doesn’t mean I stopped caring about your realm since I went back to live in mine. These were my friends too, Ilya. Don’t do the same that Legolas has in his blind grief earlier, by indulging in assumptions.”

"You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tarisilya sat down next to her and took her hands to massage some warmth back into that skin too. "It’s probably more my respect for your courage speaking. I don’t know if I could have done this. Not for people who were dear to me.”

"I had something to make up for.” The tears were much too close to the surface once more, and this time, Arwen allowed them to come.

Now she could let out what she hadn’t been able to explain to her beloved before. How much the images of these tortured elves in her mind blurred with just as many traces of violence disgracing the body of her mother, as it was carried past her into the halls of healing. That the salt on her tongue was not tears but the wind in the portal of Mithlond as she said good-bye to Celebrían, for good as she now knew.

"I couldn’t bring myself to be with nana back then, after the orcs … So you see, I know quite well how it feels when you can’t stand to watch such suffering, believe me. Elladan and Elrohir never openly blamed me but …" She tiredly shook her head. "Haruni once told me that on this day, it has been decided that I could never be a healer. And today, it wasn’t just about our family. I wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint haruni with my weakness again."

"I doubt that you ever could. I can hardly remember a day when Lady Galadriel has not spoken about you with great pride, Arwen, and that was even before you became one of the most cherished fighters of Imladris. Come on now, let's go back. You did everything you could here. Not only Lady Galadriel, your father as well will be proud. Of all that you have done in Gondor, too. Your hands are clean."

Tarisilya’s fury from earlier had given way to the emotional serenity, most grown-up elves radiated. The unusually deep, smoky sound of her voice passed the same balance to whoever her words were aimed at. The melodic pitch and the entwined sounds of their common language did the rest.

Arwen of course knew these methods of support of a healer very well from childhood, but today, they couldn't reach her as much the usual way. "This has never been about my hands. And even less about ada. What anyone thinks about this, can never count. It’s about _them_. About those we should help. Always."

She pulled herself together and shakily got up. Last she had felt that drained, had been in her first days of recovery at Cair Andros. "I wanted to help, that's all. No one deserves an ending like this. Thank you, but I have to be alone for a while now. I'll wait close by until we carry on."

She squeezed Tarisilya's shoulder for a moment and whistled for Asfaloth then. She gladly let her friend help her into the saddle since by now, her injury caused almost as many problems as in the beginning. As soon as she was seated, her stallion dashed off with his fastest speed, as if he felt how much she suffered and wanted to get as much distance as possible between them and the slope.

Arriving at a lonely spot a few minutes away, Arwen took spare clothes out of one of her bags and gingerly threw the bloodstained things into another small fire.

Sitting on the hard ground, she stared into the slowly brightening sky, trying in vain to let the warmth of the sun reach her soul as well. More and more confusion, and fear of the future that she'd never felt before, mixed with her pain. So this was the world she had wanted to stay in so badly, that she had given up everything for? A world of blood and death, still?

Freezing not just from the still-cool spring breeze, she hugged her knees to her chest. More than ever, she wished, she would have never left the safety of her home.

Tarisilya could only wait now, so she was quickly drawn to Brego who was still lying at the first hilltop. A quick examination of his sturdy body already revealed the slightly swollen wound on his side.

"Easy, mellon. I'm here now." Whispering soothing words, she sat down next to the animal and carefully touched the spot with her fingertips.

Brego who was in pain and accordingly angry snapped at her.

Tarisilya deftly dodged and grabbed his reins right behind his mouth to hold him still. Her other hand slowly caressed from his forehead to his nose, then she gently blew into his nostril like horses among themselves did. "Let me help you."

Aragorn had done good work but the long ride had reopened the wound. There wasn't much growing in this area that could be used for treatment, so Tarisilya left it at influencing the spot with the healing spells that her father had already taught her when she had been little. It helped at least to contain the infection and relieve the burn of the injury a little.

Brego visibly relaxed under this treatment; at some point, he even rested his head in Tarisilya's lap and finally fell asleep.

She wished she could have done the same.

That was how Aragorn found them when he returned. "Are you two alright?"

"If we don't make too much haste, he shouldn't have problems, getting to Imladris." Tarisilya stretched a little as her legs had gone numb from the uncomfortable position.

Then she wanted to approach Tercelborne, but Brego suddenly got up surprisingly fast, shook himself a little, and trotted after her with his head held high, passing Aragorn by.

"What is it, boy?" The animal made her laugh in spite of the horrible situation, by nudging her back so firmly that she almost tumbled over. "You're welcome." She patted his neck and wanted to give the reins to Aragorn but Brego reluctantly shook his head until his long mane stand up and rubbed her shoulder with his nose.

"I guess I'm not getting rid of him for a while. Would you mind, Your Majesty? I am pretty sure, King Éomer would surely appreciate it anyway if you taught his young stallion a few manners. I wouldn't have any nerves for that right now."

Smirking, Aragorn gave Brego a pat on his healthy flank. "Our little womanizer might go with you at his leisure. He saved my life and chose me as his rider. If he reconsiders his choice, I won't force him into anything else."

Quickly, all of them were ready to leave. They didn't want to spend even another hour in this area.

As if they'd agreed on it beforehand, on the rest of the route, they didn't talk about the events anymore. Aragorn and Legolas were being focused too much on their wakefulness for that anyway. The fear was ever-present, that a similar attack threatened them as it had just happened in these lands.

Tarisilya on the other hand felt more exhausted by the hour and longed for rest. Only the prospect of the beauty of Imladris saved her from falling back into the depression she had suffered from before the end of the war.

Brego helped much. By abruptly stopping every now and then, prancing as if frightened by a too low-flying bird passing by, or boisterously kicking out one leg, he made her laugh every time. Maybe he knew how much she suffered from the separation from her mare and tried to cheer her up a little.

At any rate, he put more effort into it than Legolas who exhibited a more restless expression with every passing minute and seemed to turn his attention mostly into one certain direction.

At some point, Tarisilya had enough. "What is it, elwen? This is not only about the war or about … what we have found. I can see it in your face."

"Don't you feel that?" Confusion about something, his senses couldn't fully capture was in Legolas' eyes when he once more let his eyes wander over the mountains on their right, towering between Eregion and Mirkwood. "The voices in the air have changed. For centuries, they have poisoned this part of Middle-earth, and now … nothing. Not even Sauron's death could have silenced them all at one go."

"Do you think there's trouble in Mirkwood?"

Tarisilya quickly exchanged glances with Aragorn. She had a funny feeling, he wouldn't like it one bit, if after facing all these hardships, Legolas would decide to leave the group after all.

"If you'd rather ride there …"

"That won't be necessary." He forced himself to look back ahead. "Whatever it is, it doesn't feel dark. Only … empty, as if something is no longer being where it was."

"Empty? That shouldn't come as a surprise, considering how many elves have left Middle-earth already. The realms will die out one by one," Tarisilya replied more bitterly than planned. "Nevertheless, it is your home and you haven't been there for far too long. We could ask Lord Elrond to send a messenger to Mirkwood."

"We won't have to ask for that first, moon-queen." It was the first time in a while that Legolas addressed her with her nickname. His condition slowly seemed to normalize. He could even talk now about the upcoming storm between Lórien and Mirkwood with a weak but definitely existing grin. "The word of our betrothal will leave the borders of Imladris soon enough, without the help of us. So you better enjoy the last of silence."

Instead of an answer, she reached out her hand to hold his and gifted him with a smile that would hopefully remind him that in spite of her lacking war experience, she had defeated worse enemies than a stubborn Woodland Realm King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * haruni = grandmother  
> * mellon = friend  
> * nana = mother


	8. Chapter 8

At the gap of Imladris, Legolas was first to stop his horse to take a last deep breath, compose himself for a moment. After all, when Aragorn and he last had left these lands, when Arwen had said farewell to them here, they had gone to war, with the nagging doubt in their hearts if they would ever lay eyes on this valley again.

Here, the memory of the Fellowship when it had still been complete, was most present. The question inevitably wanted to arise what one could have done differently back then. If there was anything, a small detail, maybe, or one changed decision on the way, that could have prevented tragedies like Boromir's death.

But Imladris' mountainous landscape, infused with the fragrance of spring, didn’t allow them to drown in grief for long. Other images were mixed into the anger, of a past when the shadow of Mordor had been nothing but a hardly noticeable wisp of wind yet, easy to ignore.

The little stream they let their horses drink from for example. This was where Legolas had stopped when he had approached Imladris without a specific mission for the first time, in the same year when he had first met Tarisilya. The clearing nearby that Tarisilya and he had been standing at almost 20 years ago, shortly after finally starting their relationship, after centuries of waiting. Only minutes earlier, Legolas had had said good-bye to Aragorn at Lord Elrond's palace – the beginning of their sincere friendship. And all of these paths and meadows where an adolescent Tarisilya must have gone on adventures with Arwen …

They all dismounted almost in unison, again, without even needing to talk about it. For the first time since their departure from Gondor, nothing was standing between them, no hidden aggression, no reproaches, no unfounded jealousy, or distance that someone else's behavior caused.

"Actually, we should settle here, elwen. This is the only place where time always stands still."

Tarisilya let go of Brego's reins whereupon he trotted to Aragorn as if he didn't want to disturb the whispered conversation or had had enough change and wanted to go back to his former rider.

Tarisilya let him do as he liked, visibly relieved that this time, Legolas managed to return her smile. No matter how many bad things they had seen on this journey: At this moment that revealed that in spite of entirely normal difficulties in their relationship, their love for each other endured unscathed, they realized it had been worth it. Someday, they would be able to leave the war behind. Until then, there would be days like these, far from the turmoil of Men, when they could enjoy a taste of the life that in the distant future, in Valinor, they would always be able to lead.

"Happy now that we accompanied His Majesty after all?" Tarisilya teased Legolas, with an impish grin, her head propped against his shoulder. "Considering I almost had to _blackmail_ you ..."

The answer was a well-known, just as little serious gesture that he always cut her short with when she was talking too much: Legolas just gently covered her mouth with his hand. "If you don't want me to leave for Mirkwood after all, you stop it right there."

Fortunately, Tarisilya thought of something much better they could be doing with their lips in such an almost unwatched moment.

After the first playful caress of lips, Tarisilya turned in her betrothed's arms to finally get that proper, long kiss that she'd already been longing for days.

Feeling Legolas' silhouette against hers suddenly going very rigid made it clear though, that still wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Angered, she followed his look to a switchback above the clearing, to see who or what was disturbing them yet again.

Recognizing the watcher who had approached without any sound, as the King of Mirkwood himself, she didn't deem Legolas' sudden reserve such a bad idea after all.

There weren't many elves that people so seldom caught sight of, of whom you could still tell at first sight, who they were. Of Thranduil, it was said that no one could find him in Mirkwood if he didn't want them to. Still, Tarisilya wouldn't even have needed to see portraits in the past to know. It was the clothes for a start, aristocratic enough with wide sleeves and an embroidered long cloak, yet thanks to their green and brown colors blurring with the surroundings suited for a ride like this. First and foremost though, it was the aura of so many millennia that distinguished an elf like Thranduil from others.

And his remarkable resemblance to his son. One could almost believe, it was Legolas, standing there close by. Only a closer look revealed other differences than the jewelry adorning both clothes and hair – a preference, the King was known for far beyond his realm. It was the same striking, ocean blue eyes that seemed to pierce Tarisilya, but a clear hint of harshness was shining in them. Not even the smallest smile on the slightly thinner lips; the high cheekbones were more prominent than his son's. With his very upright posture, an entirely correct seat even after such a long ride, and impeccably clean, expensive fabrics on his body, Thranduil radiated a fascinating kind of dignity. But unlike Legolas with his lively sparkle in his eyes, he seemed distant from his surroundings, downright cold.

This sober expression, not even the smallest twitch on his face revealing what was going on in him, he'd passed on to Legolas as well. It was an expression that immediately made one lower their head and wonder what they had done wrong.

And when you looked up, the figure in the distance was gone, without you having heard it ride off. Just like the four of them, Thranduil had obviously just arrived, as several bulging saddlebags had shown, so actually, they were going the same way. But the King obviously didn't put any value to a conversation.

"Looks like we'll learn what happened in your home sooner than thought."

Tarisilya had the feeling, this hadn't been an awfully good first impression. Somehow, Legolas and she had a talent for that. At his first encounter with Vandrin, Legolas had made quite the fool of himself too. Only Vandrin had been comparatively easy to convince that his daughter had chosen the right partner. That at least had taken just a few centuries.

Might be only a few more millennia then before they could finally get married.

"I'm sick of this ridiculous drama." Amazingly enough, it was Legolas who suddenly lost his patience. This dismissal, in spite of his father and him not having seen each other since the start of the war, had triggered something that apparently had been due for some time. Mounting Arod again, he spurred him to a quick speed, as if he wanted to catch up with all these times at once that he'd copped out of open confrontation. "I will not argue about whom I'm supposed to marry. If he doesn't like it, we'll travel on to Lórien and become wedded with Lady Galadriel's blessing."

Tarisilya raised a perplexed brow. Well, if her betrothed seemed finally ready to even put up with a rift with his father, who was she to stop him? For feeling this excited anticipation, about him being in such a remarkable hurry with the wedding now, she would have taken it up with hundreds of Elvenking.

"I guess that means, our arrival will turn out a little more turbulent than expected, Your Majesty," she turned to Aragorn. "Better tell Lord Elrond to not expect us for dinner."

Even the presence of an elf of high nobility like Thranduil couldn't compensate for the prevailing emptiness in Imladris. Countless elves seemed to have left their home in the last months, on an almost entirely safe road thanks to the realm's location, while elves of Lórien and Mirkwood had been discouraged from riding to Mithlond by the war. Rightly so, as the travelers had been plainly shown in Dunland; a thought that overshadowed the arrival even more than spotting all those empty streets in Elrond's city.

Where in the past, many elves would have greeted the visitors, now they were as good as alone on their way to the palace. The guards, invisible as usual, had already seen them at the gap and reported that no danger was coming from them, so there was no reason for an escort. Aragorn could hardly see any familiar face, which the speed that Legolas was setting also made difficult, though.

Lord Elrond's home residence was like a rock in this troubled water, unaltered in its splendor of columns, open halls letting in the light in every room, the artful architecture with its many circular rooms, symbolizing the flow of energy. It was good to know that there were still places like this, where in spite of the dwindling light of the elves on Middle-earth, there would never be room for fear.

Elrond was already waiting for his visitors at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main entrance. As was often the case, he was flanked by his sons who seemed to take after him with every passing year more, with the same raven-black hair and almost identical pointed features. With a long white robe and a green gown on top of it, the usual circlet of Imladris on his high forehead and an expression, frozen like a statue's in the court, Elrond looked as if not a day had passed since then.

Aragorn wasn't fooled by that though. Elrond's eyes that had at least radiated joy from time to time in the past, seemed sunken. Unlike the twins who could hardly stand still for even one moment and visibly itched to run to meet the visitors, Elrond's once so serene, contemplative posture on this day mostly expressed tension. And the few lines of age that graced even elven faces at some point, had become deeper. It was only the soul that was granted eternity, and many a Firstborn someday preferred the gift of retiring to the Halls of Mandos for a while, over a comparatively weary physical life.

Aragorn wondered despondently if he was seeing a being who had targeted this day in the distance, by measures of elves, for whom centuries were hardly more than a wink ... if he just had to lay eyes on the epitome of evanescence.

It was coming to an end; that much was for sure. Immortality was already becoming a myth on Middle-earth. The sight of an elf grown old gracefully symbolized that even clearer than a half-empty settlement.

Aragorn wouldn't mourn every single elf sailing into the west any less than Legolas or Legolas' father. The heirs that his folk would legitimately demand of him soon and that Arwen and he would hopefully be able to give them, too, would have to live without the light of the elves.

Only the memory of the triumph over evil that Men, Dwarves, Ents, and Hobbits had achieved with their powers combined, made it to relieve the melancholy about this prospect a little.

"Ada … Elladan … Elrohir …" Arwen's choked whisper tore Aragorn from his musings. Before he even got a chance to stop, to help her down from her horse, she had already jumped, with nothing more than a short grimace when her body protested against the hard jolt once more. Not a second later, Elrond and she were in each other's arms, and a load the size of half of the Misty Mountains was taken off Aragorn's mind.

Her older brothers had never been seriously able to begrudge Arwen for anything, not for longer than a few days. But Aragorn hadn't dared hope that the Lord of this valley would greet his daughter so gladly as well, after her solo effort in the war. Apparently, the relief prevailed after all, of seeing her being mostly healthy. Aragorn had of course sent pigeons here to inform his foster father about Arwen's fate. But had their places been exchanged, he wouldn't have had a minute of peace anymore either.

"Milord … Forgive me interrupting please." Only when Legolas discreetly cleared his throat and Arod impatiently started to paw at the white pebbles on the forecourt, the minutes of silence ended that Arwen had spent only, in turn, hugging her father or one of the twins.

Legolas handed his stallion off to one of the stable workers who came running before he greeted Elrond with the light bow common between them.

"So we are coming before you once again."

"At ease, Prince of Mirkwood. You should know that you are always welcome here."

Elrond left it to Elladan and Elrohir to greet both their old friend from the Woodland Realm and Tarisilya with embraces that were so unusual for their kind and therefore so very meaningful, and turned to Aragorn, with his arm still around Arwen's shoulders. They both had tears of joy in their eyes, but Elrond's face remained dark, and Aragorn was certain that his sons and he would take Arwen to the halls of healing in a few minutes already, to do whatever was in their power.

But before, he didn't neglect to tell the Aragorn the most important thing, the one he had been waiting for so long. "So now the darkness is finally a thing of the past. I welcome with pride and respect the leaders in the battle for our world, and those who stood by them in body and mind. Those who shall remain by their side as long as fate may allow it."

The still slightly distanced greeting was replaced by a look of deep affection when Elrond put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Mae govannen na mbar, Estel."

"Gen hannon." Placing his hand on the elf's, Aragorn looked into his eyes for a long moment before he stepped back.

"I didn't want to let Arwen take this burdensome ride alone. And my heart was longing for seeing this valley one more time without fear. No matter where I stay, this will always be my home. Many times, the memory of spring in Imladris gave me new courage in the war." To emphasize his words, he deeply breathed in the flowery air. The veil of ongoing worry clouding his own eyes was lifted a little. "For once, I show up in this place without bringing the burdens of Middle-earth with me."

"Even with the worst sorrow on your back, you would always be welcome in my home, Estel. And as a reward for escorting my daughter on this important journey, the Valar may hopefully allow us to assist you in this dark hour."

Elrond stared at Arwen so seriously from the side, as if he could make out by that alone what was going on behind her suddenly very shy expression, why she kept on avoiding his gaze. There seemed to be a less than pleasant conversation waiting for them in a moment after all.

Arwen suddenly looked almost as sickly as the first night after the victory over Mordor. "I'm sorry for causing you grief, ada. I had to do what I thought was right."

"A warrior in her heart, standing up for what is important to her. I couldn't be prouder of you. I have always been." Elrond's voice harbored much less rejection than sometimes, Aragorn had heard it in the past from his foster father when it had been about Arwen's efforts in battle. One of the few last witnesses still living here, of what difference solidarity between Men and Elves could make, it seemed, Elrond had now finally accepted that his daughter had become a big part of this tradition. In more than one regard.

Another firm embrace followed, that this time, Elladan and Elrohir joined in as well, making it clear to Arwen without big words that they shared their father's opinion.

When Arwen then grabbed Aragorn's hand without even looking up, to get him to join them too, the bond of love between all of them was finally forged anew.

Only after this so important reunion, Elrond turned to Legolas and Tarisilya again, actually giving them his attention now. "Once more, fate unites your paths in these realms, Prince of Mirkwood, child of Lórien. This time, Imladris can no longer be your hideout though."

"There is nothing left to hide, Milord." Legolas raised his head, with his jaw thrust forward, ready for battle. "But if one of your other guests should have a problem with our common presence here, we don't want to burden you with that of course."

When Tarisilya audibly gasped for air and he followed her look to one of the palace porches, he choked on his next sentence.

The lean, tall figure of a white-clad elf had emerged there. None other than Lady Galadriel herself stood on the naked ledge of the platform. The knee-length bright hair framing her supernaturally beautiful face, and her dress reflecting the sunlight made the appearance unique that robbed visitors of the Golden Wood of their breath and allegedly, sometimes of their wits. The tiara of Galadriel's realm left no doubt that she had come here as a representative of Lord Celeborn's and her reign, but her smile was one of honest delight.

So Lady Galadriel had been wrong back then, telling Aragorn that they wouldn't meet again. Sometimes it was actually quite gratifying when her clairvoyant abilities failed her for a change.

"Milady …" The unexpected encounter turned Tarisilya's usually so strong voice into a whisper. All the more enthusiastic, she ran up the stairs to the terrace, etiquette acquired in centuries forgotten. The way her face was shining and how she almost tripped over the seam of her dress, reminded Legolas only too clearly of how she had been at the very beginning of their acquaintance, not more than a child, yet already very mature and strengthened by her fate.

Tarisilya could recollect herself just in time though and stop at a proper distance. She hurried to show the same curtsy, she had greeted Lord Elrond with. "Milady … I thought …" Her voice broke. "I thought I would never see you again in these realms."

She didn't get an answer; elder elves didn't use many words.

Instead, under everyone's astonished gazes, Galadriel came up to her charge, wrapping one arm around Tarisilya's waist, her hand resting on her right shoulder, her chin braced on her left. Just the smallest hint of an embrace and still much more than one would usually have expected of a distanced being like an elf when it wasn't about close relatives. "You were brave and steadfast, child of the moon. Now the fulfillment of your long desire shall be your reward."

After a caress over Tarisilya's flushed cheek, speaking of tender care, she looked at Legolas. "Your place is here, Prince of Mirkwood."

"It always was, milady." Not half as boisterous but without stopping, Legolas followed Tarisilya.

"Does my father know you're here?" That probably was the stupidest question he had asked in a century or two.

But just imagining Galadriel and Thranduil in such close proximity to each other had you shudder if you knew the King, and his dislike of certain Noldor, that on many days, without exaggeration could be called hate. While in Elrond's presence, Legolas wasn't expecting a messy showdown, he could imagine more pleasant ways to spend his time than being roasted by looks of fire and ice in turn.

"One would suppose so." If _that_ just hadn't been a barely hidden laughter, one could easily sell it as a duplicate. "As far as I know, His Majesty's eyesight is not suffering from age."

At least this time, Legolas was prepared when from the shadows of the huge front hall, the King of the Woodland Realm emerged. Within seconds, the anger on Thranduil subsided, even the one about his father preferring to punish him with one of his looks of steel earlier, instead of being happy. What had Legolas himself done so that this meeting wouldn't end with mutual frustration once more? After all, he had joined the Fellowship against Thranduil's wish back then and exposed him for a year to the dread of losing his son, after losing his wife already.

If he dug in his heels although his father had obviously come here for him, and breaking some very old habits at that, that certainly wouldn't improve their relationship.

They started to walk towards each other at the same moment. Thranduil's eyes lost more and more that lack of emotion, so Legolas could clearly see it how much his father had really suffered from the fear for him.

He tried to remember in vain when they had last hugged. It definitely couldn't have felt that good.

"I promised you to come back." Only after a precious long moment, when they both weren't close to tears anymore, Legolas stepped back and caught up on the mandatory bow that he always paid his respects to his father with.

"And I promised you that things would change if we should win the battle for our home. So we are both true to our word." With one hand firmly placed on Legolas' shoulder, Thranduil walked over to the edge of the terrace.

"What our charges has begun, the curse of time will no longer hinder. So let us repeat in these realms of neutrality what I have already told your husband, Lady Galadriel. The borders between Mirkwood and Lórien have fallen. From now on, the remaining Woodland Elves shall find home and shelter in the north of my woods, under the banner of the only name it deserves: Eryn Lasgalen."

There was only a little distance left between Thranduil and Galadriel when he stopped. "The southern part is a gift of the King to those who have freed these woods from evil. And to you, who helped make sure with your support for my only son in the most difficult time of his life, that he survived this war. The misconduct thousands of years ago, that I once held against you, you thereby have erased from my heart. Under the walls of Dol Guldur that you and your people tore down, accusations of the past shall be buried forever."

"May it be," was the simple, kind answer, followed by breathless overwhelmed silence from all listeners.

"And what the Valar united in love, shall never be separated again." With these words, Thranduil finally turned to Tarisilya and vigorously grabbed her chin, raising her lowered head when she lowered it in intimidation before Legolas had even started processing what he had just heard there – that his home had finally been cleansed of the last of Sauron's influence.

"Stand up straight, child of the moon. For soon you shall become as Princess of Eryn Lasgalen the symbol for our union, and thereby, support and hope for the last elves on Middle-earth."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Tears were falling once more when one single liberating sentence finally ended centuries of uncertainty.

"I mean … ada, of course," Tarisilya quickly added at Thranduil's admonishing look. It would probably take her some time to get used to _that_.

Legolas and she had succeeded. The time for secrets was over.

When that awareness finally really reached Legolas' mind, it took him but a second to pull his betrothed into his arms. Wasting no thought on propriety anymore, he kissed her, passionately, ignoring both Galadriel's amused harrumph and how Thranduil chidingly clicked his tongue.

Aragorn watched his friends with a smirk but then stepped closer to Elrond, whispering something to him. He didn't want to disturb the romantic moment, but unfortunately, he still needed to report about Dunland. That wasn't something that allowed delay, especially since the dwarves in Moria waited for help.

Elrond's face darkened immediately. He led the way to the same room where he had been talking to Mithrandir about the dangers of the journey before the Fellowship's departure, not without sending Arwen and her brothers ahead to the halls of healing though.

Aragorn stopped beside her for another moment as well. "I'll join you as soon as I can."

"You don't have to, mîl nín. The two of them won't leave me out of their sight for a while anyway. They'll already get rid of every visitor at the doorstep. You know how they are when they start healing people, don't you? I have to retire for a while. Don't worry about me."

She bowed in Galadriel's and Thranduil's direction though the two of them were solely focusing on the lovers, and then quickly left the courtyard.

Aragorn watched his partner leave with a sigh. As relieved as he was that they had finally reached Imladris, he had indeed done so with fewer worries before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mae tollen na mbar - Welcome home  
> * Gen hannon - Thank you


	9. Chapter 9

Only a short summarization was required to convince Lord Elrond to organize half a dozen armed riders who would ride out to Dunland on that very same day.

Before even planning was complete, Lady Galadriel joined them, a whole shade whiter than earlier. In spite of their enthusiasm, Legolas and Tarisilya had obviously not been able to suppress the catastrophe for longer than a few minutes but had apparently reported it as well. Now it was hard to keep Galadriel from personally riding to the elven graves, or to make her see that Elrond's warriors would treat the dead with just as much reverence as the Lady of Lórien herself. Not to mention that she would soon be needed back in her own realm: Such a trip was too big a risk, as long as this area was so unsafe. There would still be enough time for a visit once the waves of the post-war period would have calmed.

But Aragorn was not surprised about Galadriel being notably absent when in the evening, the travelers followed Elrond's invitation to a feast in celebration of their visit. Given how much the four of them were already suffering from what these Dunlendings had done ‑ for the she-elf whose magic had always ensured Lórien's safety, the pain of having to lose charges in such a way had to be unimaginable.

Aragorn would have loved to have the privilege of being alone as well.

At least – contrary to his expectations –, Arwen accompanied him because she urgently needed a distraction after the first few hours in the halls of healing. Due to her exhaustion, she was being so quiet by his side though, her face that was always on the pale side as it was, looking even more pallid tonight, that he would almost have preferred her to stay in bed.

Fortunately, they didn't make the event half as lavish a thing as he'd feared. If Aragorn read it right through, that Legolas and Tarisilya had been missing all day, one of those would ensue soon enough. Probably in a few days already, if Elrond's tailors would be working fast enough.

Today, his foster father restricted himself to an unceremonial reception that only a few elves were being invited to, all of whom Aragorn knew from his childhood in Imladris. That they all fit at a few tables, festively decked with silver cloths, in the palace’s smallest celebration hall, without the room feeling crowded, was another hurtful reminder of how many residents had left the valley already. Neither the few stalactites that King Thranduil had been kind enough to have delivered here from his palace, shining a dimmed blueish light on the fresh flowers and vines from Imladris’ manifold flora, nor the quiet music of two talented harp players could bridge the emptiness.

Actually, Aragorn had expected numerous questions about the war and his concrete plans in Gondor, but most of the guests were more curious about the unusual couple in their midst, and about the King of Eryn Lasgalen, a face you didn't see every day.

Elrond’s announcement of important meetings between the realm leaders in the next few days sufficiently distracted them from Aragorn as well. Details about a planned closer collaboration between the three big realms that should promise more safety for the remaining elves on Middle-earth, especially after the incident in Dunland, kept the guests busy enough to save Aragorn, and Arwen as well, from burdening conversation.

When there was an eloquent character like Thranduil added to the mix then, who engaged in impressive debates with Elrond, after dinner at the latest, one could unnoticedly flee to the hall’s terrace.

For many long minutes, only the warm evening breeze and the view of the sunset over the mountains kept Aragorn company.

Hearing someone behind him, at first, he hoped for Arwen, but his good memory and his fine senses already knew better. Arwen usually wore shoes; Imladris’ barefoot tradition, she had abandoned in the course of her warrior training in Lórien. He knew these light steps on the palace’s cool marble tops. And actually, it was exactly this talk that he had wanted to avoid, or at least delay as long as possible. "Ada …"

"You shouldn't flee company, Estel. Loneliness can no longer be your friend."

"It’s always been my most loyal friend. It's difficult to shed it just as easily as the clothes of a Dúnadan worn for far too long." Aragorn reluctantly turned away from watching the landscape.

"You're not the only railing against change." Elrond’s eyes as well wistfully drifted across Imladris. He started to continue several times but paused again and again. While he’d always used to talk to Aragorn straight and resolutely, every word suddenly seemed very difficult for him to get out.

"Since Arwen’s decision, I thought a lot about the Elves’ role on Middle-earth. Knowing that someday, all of this will cease to exist ... Just like His Majesty Thranduil and Lady Galadriel, I fought to preserve our realms for thousands of years, you know that. I appealed to the conscience of every single one of my people who was being drawn to the west and could even make a few of them stay for a few more centuries. And now it’s _me_ who doesn’t want to live without those I love and who are waiting for me in Valinor anymore, seeing as I already had to give up on someone else forever. Can you imagine what it feels like, canceling such a mission? My way here was basically at an end already when I had to watch Isildur fall. It just took me a full Age to realize. With this sadness in my heart, I will leave as well, as soon as I know the Imladris leadership in reliable hands. There has been no bigger defeat for me to face since the War of the Last Alliance – except for letting my daughter be with the love of her life."

"I thought you finally stopped bearing grudges against me." Aragorn's voice immediately trembled, almost inaudibly, but someone as close to him as his foster father had to notice. "It's not me who will sunder you from Arwen one day. She is stubborn enough to follow her own will. We both gave her enough reasons to linger or else go into the west. And she surely hasn’t taken the easy way out, just as little as others who struggled with similar conflicts."

He aimed a glance back in the direction of the small hall, at Legolas and Tarisilya, only to catch sight of Arwen who belatedly had emerged in the doorframe after all.

" _Again_ , ada? Really?" Even from the distance, Aragorn could see Arwen's fingertips, buried firmly in her own elbows, leaving reddish traces on her skin as if she had to restrain herself from expressing her wrathful words by gestures. "How many more times do we have to talk about this? My mind has long been made up; do you still not understand that?"

"I do. And I am not blaming you, Estel. That's not what I meant."

With painstaking composure, Elrond crossed his hands behind his back. "Yet as a father, it's impossible for me to hide what is weighing on my heart. After all this time, there’s still not a day that I don't wonder what Elros' life would have been like if he had chosen the other path, though I know, of course, that without my brother's sacrifice, none of us would probably be standing here right now."

"I certainly wouldn't," Aragorn remarked with a hint of blackest humor, but quickly turned serious again. The deep pain darkening Elrond's bright eyes was piercing his own heart too much. He’d probably never fully get over the guilt of being partly responsible for it, though had never been his intention.

"In spite of your sadness about Elros' choice, you raised me like one of your own. I will never forget that. In the last months and years, I already had to let go of too many beings close to me. Losing you as well would be more than I could take." Aragorn carefully placed his hand on Elrond's shoulder, relieved when the gesture was returned. In a way, this thing would always stand between them, but they still loved and respected each other. Maybe that was all they could expect.

Aragorn looked across the widths of the gap one more time, searching in vain for a kind of serenity that only started to set in, to some extent, when Arwen came up next to him and took his hand, after a short, grateful nod in her father's direction to acknowledge that the conversation had not once more ended at the same useless point. Though his foster father thought little of it, right now, privacy was the only thing that would really comfort Aragorn.

"Will you please excuse us for a moment? The journey has not only exhausted me in my body, and I think, Arwen fares the same. We need to be by ourselves for a while now."

Elrond left them alone without comment, though still visibly grief-stricken.

Arwen didn't even get a chance to tell Aragorn her family’s first estimation about her condition before their longed-for togetherness was already interrupted again.

"I see I'm not the only one who sought isolation for a while."

"Haruni …" For a moment, Arwen had been so lost in thought that the sound of her grandmother’s deep, prominent voice had her startle. Thanks to her still weakened condition, she almost lost balance at the edge of the balcony and had to hold on to Aragorn's hand. Hastily, she stepped back, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Her grandmother was nice enough to not call her on it, though she could impossibly have missed Arwen’s slip, climbing her way up the outside stairs to the terrace. It seemed like someone wanted to belatedly fulfill the duties of politeness after all.

Arwen felt no urge at all to do the same. Too many elves in there kept on scrutinizing her from the corner of their eyes, and not all of these looks were friendly. Now that Arwen would soon start her new life in Gondor for good, those she would leave behind made no secret of their disappointment.

She should have fled straight to her chambers, but in the light of the night, her home captured her imagination just like in the past, especially now that the shadow of the Dark Lord had been entirely lifted. She wouldn’t be able to lay eyes on this valley all too often in her life anymore; her duties would keep her too busy for that. She should enjoy the few days of her stay as much as she could.

And she needed just as little company for that as Aragorn. "Actually, we just wanted …"

"Stay another moment." Galadriel came to stand next to her but didn't look at her directly; instead, she stared at the gap as well.

"Of course." No matter how many centuries she had lived, next to this tall elf, in spite of their close relationship, sometimes Arwen still felt as small and awkward as a hobbit. Especially since the two of them were not even part of the same folk anymore, even though Arwen's body wasn't showing that.

"You feel uncomfortable in my presence," Galadriel noted soberly. If that was hurting her, she hid it just like most of what was going on inside of her. "You shouldn’t regard yourself as lesser than you are. No one in this realm harbors bad thoughts about you, Arwen. The elves respect you for standing up for what your heart tells you; your father already told you that earlier."

With all due reverence, that, Arwen had to contradict after all. "I have become a stranger in my own home, haruni. When I turn my back to my former friends, I can feel their eyes on me like knives. Even Elladan and Elrohir … They try to hide it, but whenever they think I'm not looking, the same resentment is in their faces. And I get that, I do. It’s hurting me just as much that I have to rob the elves of their light. But my own life counts just as much, doesn't it?"

When Aragorn silently put his arm around her, she gratefully rested her head on his shoulder. The last hours’ unpleasant meetings had taken a bigger toll on her than she'd initially realized.

"Of course it does, even more so. And that is exactly what your heart finally needs to understand. It's only your own bad conscience weighing you down. The elves might be disappointed about having to let you go, but they’re hoping, you do what will make you happy for the rest of your life. It would grieve them much more if their Evenstar burned out."

Galadriel lovingly took Arwen's chin and leaned closer to her. Her dark blue eyes, ever a playful, sparkling reflection of the starlight in the unclouded sky, once more seemed to look into Arwen's very soul. She smiled roguishly. "Fortunately, it is granted to me to already know that it will not happen. Do not fill your mind with even more worries than you already have. When next time you feel watched, just stare back at them."

"Then ada might wonder if you once again spoiled my good upbringing by him," Arwen noted with a still quite miserable chuckle.

"The realm leaders have worse things to fret about right now."

Immediately, the smile left Galadriel’s lips. Some pain, you couldn't suppress for more than a few minutes. "I felt what happened in Dunland. My powers are not as strong as they once were, so I pretended, it was only a dream. I refused to accept it."

Arwen felt helpless like seldom before. How was one supposed to comfort a millennia-old elf, a being that was mentally a lot more stable than her?

"They told me how much strength you displayed in this matter. Both of you. I have in return assured your future husband the support of our last warriors already, if the necessity for that should exist in Gondor ever again."

Arwen felt how her beloved’s strong shape so close to hers inevitably stiffened. Now it was her turn to comfortingly circle her thumb on the back of his hand. Of course, they both equally hoped that no violent use of weapons of any kind had to happen in their realm anymore. But if it would, it was good to know that at least for some time, they could still count on the help of Firstborn.

"But I want to thank you as well. In the Dunland Massacre, you did things not taken for granted, not even for a warrior."

Reaching to her neck, Galadriel opened the clasp of a petite necklace. "This dates from my old life in Valinor still. On our hard journey on the ice, it always granted me warmth by the memories. Take it as a token of my gratitude and deepest respect always accompanying you on your way, even when one day, I will not dwell in these realms any longer. After the gem that has once guided you two was shattered by Sauron's eye, there’s no jewel able to capture the light of Undómiel anymore. But that doesn't mean, your own has stopped shining forever."

Arwen stared at the glistening jewel with wide eyes. "I cannot accept that, haruni. I don’t deserve such an honor anymore, now that I …"

"Nonsense," Galadriel interrupted her harshly. "Your mortal life neither wipes out your origin nor your past. You proved that in Dunland once more. The dread of losing these elves will poison my mind until one day, our ways will hopefully cross again in the west. I hope, this whole matter will not haunt you just as long. May this locket help you. It shall reflect the radiance of pure fire in your eyes that will never burn out, even when one day, your body has to. Of the fire that brightened your way in the war, as well, and that gave you back the necessary strength in Dunland to turn to your new life at last. Let it always be direction and warmth for you, _Nauriel_." Before Arwen could object once again, Galadriel just put the jewelry around her neck.

Gingerly, Arwen took the pendant in her hand. It was a combination of a blossom with a star, with a sparkling white gem in its center. The jewelry was only thumb-nail-sized but crafted with so much detail that it looked like it was real, like a freshly plucked little flower.

When she recollected herself, looking up to say thank you, Galadriel had vanished inside the ceremonial hall.

Being even more troubled than before, in spite of the encouraging words, Arwen only too gladly let her beloved bring her to her chambers where after a fleeting, absent kiss, their ways parted. She had an infallible feeling that neither of them would be able to fall asleep tonight.

She should be proved right.

There were places in Imladris that you didn't exactly expect to be stopped by a sword blade held to your throat at when you wanted to leave a room. Lord Elrond's palace and the Hall of Fire there especially, were usually among those.

You quickly learned how to get through unexpected contact with the enemy unharmed though, in a year basically full of dangerous situations nonstop. With a move that had long become ingrained, Legolas threw his head back and brought his elbow up, aiming for one of the few spots seldom protected by armor. Before his brain could catch up with his instincts and dutifully report how unlikely it was that anyone in this valley meant trouble for him, a pained moan and the archaic curse from a very well-known, melodic voice sounded already.

"Oh damn. I'm sorry." More contrite than he should be, given the unprovoked challenge, Legolas backed away and watched his old trainer rub the side of his neck with a pretty bad conscience. This was actually not how he had pictured their reunion.

"That you cannot be blindsided anymore?" With a slightly askew grin, Glorfindel sheathed his infamous golden blade in the scabbard on his belt. "You forgot nothing."

"My reflexes were never my problem, you should know that better than anyone. Only my focus." Legolas paid his respects to the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower with a bow not too deep but lengthy, relieved that the general was safe and sound in spite of the disturbances that had shaken the Imladris borders, too.

By nothing but a short nod, Glorfindel asked him along, back into the hall, where there was, fortunately, some wine from today's last meeting left. "No one is without fault at war. We are all lucky to still be here. Do not waste that gift with cheerlessness."

So Legolas hadn't been imaging things, feeling watched when he had just stayed back alone in this room for a few minutes too long, with his eyes closed in exhaustion. In times when the valley was oozing with so many important visitors, you couldn't even think yourself lonely in a hall being so seldom used by day. And he should have suspected that it was no secret at least to the highest Lords of Imladris, what had befallen Legolas at Helm's Deep. An incident that after a long time of suppression was trying to force its way back into his conscious mind louder and louder.

To discuss that in detail was actually the very last thing he felt like doing right now, but certain elves, you didn't just incautiously push away.

"That's what I'm trying to do," he answered briefly as they sat down at the head end of one of the long wooden tables, right by the fire, and helped themselves plenty with Thranduil's wine. "There are too many duties lying ahead for me in the very near future to grant a couple of dishonorable and long-slain men more importance in my life than they deserve."

"The healers can help you," Glorfindel remarked it neutrally enough to not deduce any of that mandatory counsel from it, as Legolas usually gladly accepted it from someone who had seen so many Ages. But if he wasn't mistaken, that was not why Lord Elrond's general had come here at all.

And in his long career as a soldier, Glorfindel had probably too often witnessed that kind of chasms of Secondborn – in very rare cases, of Firstborn even – to not know that you couldn't process something like that with the use of medicine and a few unctuous words anyway. Especially not within a few days.

And not at a point when Legolas planned to tackle very different and far more pleasant matters together with his betrothed. Some bastards who didn't even have names and who would never be remembered by anyone? Those were the very last people he wanted to allow to spoil that. There would be enough chances to consciously deal with this whole thing, once Tarisilya and he found a safe, permanent home in a peaceful area, and one didn't have to keep looking back over one's shoulder anymore.

"I'll be married to one of the best healers of these realms in the foreseeable future." Putting Glorfindel off, Legolas rather took another big sip of the heavy sweetness from his mug that he hadn't had a chance to enjoy for far too long. "So if one day, I should indeed no longer know how to cope with this, I have someone to turn to. Until then, distraction is what's best for me, and I've got enough of that right now."

Glorfindel didn't miss Legolas regarding the hall with a short eye-roll, that he'd already spent way more time in than planned. "Tiresome conversations?" The warrior didn't sound particularly sympathetic; he had always been smart enough to keep out of most political questions.

"I never thought there was an even more stubborn elf than my father." Legolas held the cool metal of the vessel to his temple, the memory of Lady Galadriel's powerful and in some discussions indeed very loud voice starting to cause a headache. "But now their negotiations are almost over. I didn't even expect certain settlements so soon. That's partly thanks to Erestor, by the way. With his tactical experience and his sharp mind, he's made some outstanding contributions."

Lord Elrond's chief advisor had yet again vanished so quickly though, that Legolas hadn't been able to express his appreciation to him; therefore, he didn't want to miss the chance to at least do it to the elf who was exceptionally close to the somewhat eccentric black-haired Noldo, if rumors were anything to go by.

For a second, there was an undefinable somber expression on Glorfindel's youthful face that Legolas couldn't quite read. "He is not acting too annoyingly towards you? He can be a handful." There was something in Glorfindel's bright eyes that he didn't want to mention, though it maybe would have been better.

Something that strikingly reminded Legolas of how Erestor kept on looking past him by a whisker and avoided addressing him whenever he could get away with asking his father. For a moment, he was tempted to ask but then he let it be. There was hardly anyone in elf world that Thranduil had not snubbed in one way or another at some point in the last Ages. And people usually took that out on Legolas wherever he was going. So long as they didn't say the kind of problem they had with him to his face, he was sick of apologizing for his family.

"He's not, no. There's hardly anyone talking to me at this table as it is, though. Which is totally fine with me. Ada probably only wants me there as a punishment for neglecting my duties for a year solid. I've long had one foot out of this whole thing, and he's finally starting to understand that. Since he's not planning to abdicate anytime soon anyway, it's unnecessary for me to get further involved in realm matters."

Legolas showed the hint of a shrug. "And if everything goes as planned, I will have to take care of my own soon."

"That is why I am here," Glorfindel finally got to the point; it seemed relieved. Thranduil wasn't exactly his favorite subject. The two of them had never gotten along too well; their respective temper alone was far too different for that.

"I am offering you a substitute matching both your sense of responsibility and combat strength."

Legolas spared himself pointing out that his plans for that settlement in Ithilien were not even half-ripe yet; Glorfindel had to know that. It was the future they were talking about here. And someone who was known as an excellent warrior way beyond this valley's borders, possibly playing a role in that someday, was more than all right with him. "Thondrar, right? I heard many good things about him already. When he was in Mirkwood once, I, unfortunately, did not make it home from the patrol in time to talk to him. But ada was apparently very ... impressed."

"I remember different adjectives", Glorfindel remarked dryly.

Now Legolas did shrug with a sigh, after all, a movement that had become second nature in the long years of his life. "Not every soldier jumps on the back of a spider ten times their size to rip its eyes out with their bare hands, just to save the rest of their unit. Thondrar couldn't know that ada had sent two of his scouts to follow the beast so they would find its nest."

"He has to learn restraint anyway. Ithilien is a good place for that."

Legolas had no objections about that. Now there was only curiosity left. "Do you not need him here anymore?"

"As long as catastrophes as in Dunland happen. But soon, there will not be much to do here anymore. Many are leaving." For a moment, the fleece of hip-length golden curls distinguishing this elf so much fell into his face as he lowered his head in both grief and melancholy. Just because one knew that something was inevitable and in the long run, probably better that way, it didn't make it easier. "Thondrar thinks he has not achieved enough of Middle-earth yet. He needs a challenge. With your permission, I will talk to him."

"I would feel honored." Legolas raised his cup in a gesture of silent confirmation and gratitude. All without summoning a far more painful subject, his old friend had guided his thoughts towards a more positive direction than they'd been dominated by earlier.

For that alone, Glorfindel deserved it that one cup later, he became one of the first persons that Legolas told about what very personal topic had been taken care of in that meeting earlier as well.


	10. Chapter 10 (M/M smut)

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Eavesdropping is indecent." With a deep sigh, Glorfindel poured himself right the whole rest in the wine jug. With his next conversation partner, unsurprisingly, waiting in the doorway already after his first had left, he had a funny feeling, he would need a lot more of that brew in a minute. Thranduil had been wise to send half a cartload of his most infamous wine here prior to his arrival. Otherwise, by now, nothing would be left for the upcoming big celebration.

"In this case, no need to pass on the compliment, I guess?"

"Not my fault, Lord Elrond didn't equip his most important meeting rooms with walls and doors." Erestor sauntered by him impassively and snatched the cup from his hand before Glorfindel could empty it, helping himself with the last remaining contents.

The love for this wine, Erestor had brought back here from his long stay in the other realm at the beginning of this Age back then, of which Glorfindel seriously doubted that the Prince of Mirkwood could even remember it. He had still been very small; and Thranduil wasn’t exactly hawking it around, that after the death of his father and his wife within such a short time, he’d been so very unable to properly lead his realm or even his life, that the support of an Imladris librarian, induced by Lord Elrond himself, had probably been the only thing saving the realm from utter chaos.

Erestor wasn’t talking much about the whole thing anymore either, but he’d never had much of a problem with the King, on the contrary. It was his son who nowadays, for understandable reasons, was a thorn in his flesh. And Glorfindel still was not entirely sure if it wouldn’t have been better to point that out to Legolas, though that usually wasn’t his nature.

Given that Erestor also must have overheard the last bit of information that Glorfindel had just been told by the Prince, he, fortunately, still seemed amazingly composed. He was just another shade paler than in the last days already. Jealousy, at least, there hadn't been any for centuries. "Better cut back on the drinking, or you'll be addicted to this stuff before you can finally shunt Thondrar off to Gondor."

Glorfindel had long learned how to take such digs; and when Tarisilya was close by or the subject of conversation, Erestor was always particularly vicious anyway, because he was searching for the next best confrontation to blow off some steam. So soon after the end of the war, Glorfindel was in no mood for that game. Now that against all doubts, he had actually put that formerly only very vague plan regarding Thondrar into action, he longed for a few hours of silence. Unfortunately, that was in short supply in Imladris right now.

" _He_ has been asking for distance for centuries."

"I forgot. The one thing you've been famous for in the last three Ages was giving your warriors everything they wish for." With a burst of harsh laughter, Erestor threw his head back and sat down on the table, as if this was his office in the library.

So this was what this was about, once again. Erestor still didn't consider their discussions in the last weeks about his current qualification for the last necessary border security to be over.

Glorfindel very much did though. One time of having to treat some debris of bruises and cuts formerly known as Erestor's back, after the last battles at the borders, had been more than enough. In the war, he had very reluctantly allowed it that Erestor stayed in training as a reserve backup for emergencies, but now, fortunately, there was no more need to call someone in such a bad condition to arms. And hopefully, it would never again come to that either.

Until politeness was served, Glorfindel even preferred dealing with that other, even more unpleasant subject for another few minutes, before taking the bait of _that_ debate. "Thondrar is not my warrior."

"Neither am I." Faster than Glorfindel could read that suddenly extremely mischievous expression on Erestor's rough features, he suddenly slipped from the tabletop onto Glorfindel's chair, covering his lips in a demanding kiss.

"What are you doing?" Glorfindel turned his head to look at the door, at the broad, open windows of the surrounding halls, to make sure that there weren't any washerwomen, regardless of gender, waiting there yet again to stir up the next wave of rumors.

"What?" Erestor acted entirely unimpressed by Glorfindel's attempts to push him away. And thanks to the way, he had wormed his thin silhouette between the edge of the table and Glorfindel's promptly suspiciously heated body, he couldn't just shove him back either if he didn't personally want to be responsible for the next set of bruises. "Afraid of someone seeing what everyone in this valley long knows about? Or just someone seeing how our most renowned fighter is letting his own emotions overwhelm him?"

"Erestor, what …?" Glorfindel stopped in the midst of his half-sighed, half-growled comment when he realized that he couldn't just move back his chair, either. Because his playful companion had his legs wrapped surprisingly firmly around that chair, and Glorfindel's wrists were caught in a grasp between their upper bodies just as tenaciously. If Glorfindel didn't mean to bruise one or two of his friend's ribs, he wouldn't escape this situation so easily.

Fascinating. Apparently, Glorfindel had completely failed to notice that Erestor had been spending even more of his free time with training again since the end of the war, all without a purpose or Glorfindel prompting him to. Maybe he should try to feel if the librarian was back to carrying his daggers hidden somewhere under his usual black robe. Just to make sure that Erestor wasn't only sweating so much blood for these realm leader meetings because he planned to take his rival's head off in one of the next.

However, he felt neither like laughing nor like groping right now. "And now?"

"I don't know … How about a test of qualification?" Erestor only strengthened his grasp around Glorfindel's forearms, not leaving any doubt about what he meant.

He would have to face another disappointment there though. Glorfindel didn't waste his energy with pointless showdowns on principal. If Erestor was so keen on having to explain to the Lord what kind of recent activities in the Hall of Fire was entertaining the Imladris residents, Glorfindel would make reservations for a front-row seat.

"I do not doubt your abilities. I just do not want you out there. And _you_ do not need it."

The repeated hard judgment softened Erestor's features a little; a hint of being dazed from the alcohol, too, started to creep into it. The relentless grip turned into the still tentative caress of always slightly too-cold fingertips. After the unavoidable foreplay, his friend obviously planned to move things to different accommodations for more exciting entertainment. Since they kept on seeking each other out for those kinds of casual games far more regularly than in the last centuries recently, that wasn't wholly unexpected. Glorfindel made a mental note anyway, to make sure how many of those wine barrels were indeed left for their actual purpose later.

"No. But maybe I wish for it. And you'll need someone with experience once Thondrar leaves."

This new mention of that good-bye that had been announcing itself for so long already and that would still be not a bit easier, shattered even the thickest defensive walls around the feelings that Glorfindel always kept at bay. "I need someone who knows his limits. Seducing me in Lord Elrond's living room does not speak for you."

"Oh, you prefer my bedroom?" Abruptly getting up, Erestor withdrew to the table again, no longer in the mood for negotiations himself now, but still not ready to give up on his demand.

"Why don't you _get_ that? I need to get out of here for a few years before we all leave for the west someday. Or I swear, at some point, I will crush someone with one of those damn bookshelves. That I took a backseat in the war, partly happened because of you, you know. But this is not about stopping a whole orc army anymore, is it? What's left to do now, you already trained me for when no one else believed in me, before you suddenly got cold feet. I don't ask you as your friend, Glorfindel, I never did. I only want a chance. If you're not ready to give me one in regular training, let me show you another way that I am able to handle myself when it matters. Your rules."

Only now, Glorfindel understood what that whole absurd scene was supposed to mean. It was him for a change who was unable to bite back cynical laughter. It sounded a little exaggerated, maybe, given the rising heat in his veins that was trying to get his attention. Competing had already been a stimulating variant of their usual intermezzos more than once.

But if he agreed to what his partner, who was sometimes still so very impetuous after all his millennia, wanted from him there, he could have indeed just given Erestor a sword and send him out to hunt orcs. "You have no idea what you are getting yourself into."

"No?" For some reason, Erestor found his warning exceptionally amusing. "Did you forget that I was a frequent visitor in your home when your wife still lived there? I hate to be the one to tell you, mellon, but the House of the Golden Flower did not have particularly thick walls."

"You are not helping your case." Glorfindel noticed, annoyed, that for the first time in what felt like one and a half Age, he was blushing.

"I didn't come here to talk."

"Fine." The approval slipped out before he could clench his teeth in time. Whatever. This would at least mean a more pleasant evening than locking himself in to grieve his messed up life once more. And maybe that tiresome subject would finally be taken care of then. Or maybe Glorfindel would once again be surprised by this especially strong-willed Noldo. It wouldn't have been the first time.

And Erestor was definitely being right about one thing: Soon, neither of them would have many exciting things left to do in this valley. Having, at least every now and then, a companion from the old days with him to cheer him up on these endless watches, at borders that became orphaned more and more … That wasn't a bad thought.

But Glorfindel had to be certain first that he could take the responsibility for that. "Ten minutes."

When the door of his bedroom was opened, unease overcame Erestor for a moment, although that whole nonsense had been his own idea in the first place. 10 minutes later, he'd already forgotten how in the world he had come up with this. He only knew that he was risking inflicting a new curse on the Noldor, so shortly before the Elves' time on Middle-earth was up, if he had to spend much more time with the family Oropherion without letting off some steam every now and then. That on an evening like this, Glorfindel ended up in his bed, wasn't completely unusual … And still, today, everything was different.

There wouldn't be any discussions regarding dominance and positions today. Erestor had already given up on that when he had gotten out of his clothes and knelt down on the bed, to welcome his lover there. The focus wouldn't be on much mutual satisfaction either, though Erestor had little doubt that at the end of this dangerous duel, at the latest, he would again be uncontrollably moaning Glorfindel's name more than once.

Erestor had something to prove to himself, that was all. And if he kept on waiting for that any longer, he would become dusty inventory in his own library at last, and probably be still sitting around there, ranting and useless, when most elves and books around him had long left for the west. For him, it wasn't the peace there that could fill his withered soul with at least a hint of new life. If he wanted to make himself more useful for a few years, than in what felt like the last two Ages, Erestor had to get moving _now_. He had let Glorfindel break his stride long enough.

Erestor didn't have enough self-control left to ban this old anger from his face fast enough when Glorfindel suddenly grabbed his hair, firmly, forcing him to look up, after long moments of just silently staring at him. A sassy remark was on his lips already, but Glorfindel's expression, colder than the eternal winter on Caradhras, made him shut up just in time. They had long left foreplay behind. Erestor had demanded this himself, now he had to go through with it.

Erestor's short moment of fear had a smile curve on Glorfindel's lips. "Good." That was all it took to remind Erestor of one of the first lessons that he had learned from this elf. That nothing killed you faster in a battle than not respecting it.

After that, kindness was over though. In any case, there was nothing left of that tenderness from the afternoon high up by the stalactite cave a while ago. Without pause, Glorfindel tightened the grasp of his right hand further and pulled Erestor's head back before suddenly burying his teeth in the side of his neck, sucking and nibbling on a spot close enough to the top to make sure that Erestor would have to show up at the noble elves' next meeting with a high collar.

Erestor wasn't stupid enough to protest. He also kept his arms by his sides, though he didn't miss that under Glorfindel's tight breeches, something was already stirring with great interest. Actually, he would only have needed to reach out his hand, to turn this whole thing into a far more harmless game. But then, once more … nothing would have changed. It had been the safety of comfort in the first place that after Gondolin's fall, had Erestor let wither like one of these blossoms in his flower lexica.

So he kept still. He only allowed himself a gasp of quickly growing lust when he was nudged backward even further, until he had to brace himself on the mattress behind him, to not lose balance. The smallest growl of reluctance came from his lips when Glorfindel got out a piece of stable yarn from that inconspicuous dark pouch that he'd brought, usually used for tying scrolls, and wrapped it around both the base of Erestor's already very prominent erection and his balls. Well. So there would be no early first orgasm today. If a bit of waiting was all that Glorfindel tried to challenge him with, the general would get bored soon enough.

Erestor's instinctive flinch when Glorfindel cut off the scrap yarn with the tip of a dagger, drew a snide huff from his partner. "I do not need weapons in my bed. Turn. Elbows and knees."

That order as well, Erestor followed quickly enough to not even earn a raised eyebrow, though he had never cowered before his lover in this submissive way before. And he sure as heck wouldn't have voluntarily asked for Glorfindel binding his wrists with a piece of rope, or fastening the ends to one of the diamond-shaped carved ornaments on the bed frame. Such rules didn't count tonight, only his partner's. That was what Erestor had offered, and every smallest retreat from that assurance would have meant the very weakness that a warrior couldn't afford in any situation, no matter the challenge lying ahead.

Expecting more nastiness, Erestor shuddered, his face buried against one of his tense upper arms when Glorfindel then finally sat down behind him. But the touch on his thigh that pushed his legs quite a bit further apart, was a gentle one. The well-known clink of a glass vial and the smooth touch of oil on an extremely sensitive place almost wanted to provoke relieved disappointment again. Hopefully, a little bondage wasn't what Glorfindel seriously called an adequate trial.

This still didn't feel awfully tender though but rather sober, and, most notably, extremely thorough. Glorfindel took almost outrageously much time with massaging the fluid, intensively smelling of spices, into his flesh, before he thrust two fingers into him for the first time, eliciting the first moan from Erestor. Soon, something different than lust was mixed into it though, when certain highly delicate body parts filled with not only pleasant heat and started to itch badly.

"You have two options," Glorfindel explained, brief as ever, when Erestor turned his head to him, caught between offense and insecurity, trying to escape the increasingly unpleasant touch of this very special oil. Thanks to the iron grasp of Glorfindel's free hand around his tied erection, that attempt was in vain. " _Stop_ or _change_. I do not promise the latter to be an improvement though."

"I don't expect any. I don't need leniency from you." It was certainly not the first time that he was telling his friend that. But only when Erestor was downright pushing back against the slow movements deep inside of him, trying to lead them to a spot that would kindle way more lust, and Glorfindel pulled back immediately, Erestor remembered what the purpose of this whole thing was. That this wasn't about how much he could take. But about how much he was taking on out of misguided ambition before he understood that it was better to fall back.

So he turned away again and lowered his upper body further into the mattress, as a silent sign that he indeed wanted more of this clever touch. Even if it was accompanied by this annoying other sensation today that Glorfindel masterfully used to keep Erestor from drowning too quickly in the usual swirl of arousal. And he didn't even have to call upon Erestor's usually so unresponsive pain receptors.

It was a battle that soon controlled Erestor's body and mind alike as it was more and more torn between highly diverse sensations. Like the gasps straining his throat, from suppressing all obvious noise of distress. Or how his wrists throbbed from involuntarily rearing up against his bonds, more violently by the minute. The sensitive contractions of his muscles around the three intruders thrusting into him by now, leading to even more yearning hardness between his legs but standing no chance against the cramps starting to torture him. That oil that could only be a damn nasty mixture of stinging nettle essences, brought him to his knees even faster than the unfamiliar position. And that this time, he couldn't stimulate his senses by showering his partner in touches in return, allowed no chance of escape.

"That's enough," he finally growled, with clenched teeth, before he even realized, he wanted to say something. Only when his partner, in spite of retreating immediately, paused, motionlessly, instead of perhaps freeing him, he remembered the only instruction he'd been given for this very special trial. It wasn't like he was even considering stopping now, though. How much worse could it get?

"So? Are you going to show me what else you got there?"

When Erestor looked back over his shoulder, the answer was presented to him quicker than before, and a lot more pictorially. His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets at the sight of the toy in Glorfindel's hands, carved into a very unambiguous shape, obviously for one single use. Its girth promptly sent the next shiver down his spine, down to that unpleasantly burning spot at his lower back.

At least it was a different oil this time, one smelling far more neutral, that Glorfindel started to coat this next gift with. But Erestor still wasn't sure, he could take even more stimulation of his sore insides right now, especially given that size. Which apparently, his expression clearly showed, because Glorfindel paused at once, slightly tilting his head.

When Erestor turned away again, with tight lips and his shoulders drawn together, a well-known, very strong hand was rested on his back, his legs, massaging him, getting his trembling muscles to relax back down to the soft surface before the toy came.

For a moment, Erestor indeed gasped for air, but Glorfindel had prepared him thoroughly as ever. And when, the worst burning inside stopped after a few seconds, being replaced by the tingling sensation of healing substances, he once again decided that in most cases, the seemingly harder alternative was more satisfying. With an approving moan on his lips, he started to move back against the smooth massive object, repeatedly biting his already swollen lip when the tip rubbed his most sensitive point much more purposefully than the provocations earlier. Then it did it again. And again. There was no break this time either. No mercy.

No more than a few minutes could have passed before Erestor was writhing again, pulling on the ropes, entirely uncontrolled, his legs almost immobilized just as much by Glorfindel's much stronger ones keeping them apart. The plea for more and less at the same time was on his lips, while he either pressed his hips back or rutted into the nothingness of thin air, frustrated by the throb of his cock becoming ever more demanding. But no matter how often that one hated word escaped him or how many times he looked pleadingly into Glorfindel's face, very aroused looking as well but completely composed … He was being treated exactly with the ruthlessness he had asked for.

And maybe for the first time since they knew each other, he could rely on Glorfindel actually meeting him with the same if he had to. That he would stop handling Erestor differently, out of misguided feelings of mercy or affection, when at some point that might indeed be crucial.

Realizing that suddenly nullified even the strongest urge to torture himself to unconsciousness, for people who didn't even care, or who had been dead for millennia.

"Stop." This time, he said it consciously, loud enough, with conviction. They could probably have kept this up for another while. Erestor had no doubt that Glorfindel had many more mean tools left in this pouch, and Erestor might gladly come back to that, out of curiosity alone, in another encounter of this kind.

But underdeveloped pain sensation or not: The next days as well, he would be forced to spend them nonstop in uncomfortable chairs in the Hall of Fire, together with at least two elves with excellent mental abilities. He would have to put up with enough stupid oneliners from the family Oropherion, about his perverse private preferences, for centuries to come as it was.

More than a little relieved, he lowered his head on the bed, then his whole body, after his partner had first removed the toy and then his restraints – _all_ of them, thankfully. Still quite needy, he ground his hardness on the already damp sheets. "Fin …"

"Easy. I am here." Glorfindel didn't even try to go into a direction that Erestor would have neither constitution nor sufficient stamina left for right now. He just turned him on his back with a single quick movement, bending over his hips.

Erestor didn't even get a chance to actively participate, to return the favor of all these intense sensations that night, before Glorfindel's enthusiastically sucking mouth was on his cock already and the last of his self-control went flying out of the window.

He got back at his lover at dawn then, before the sun had even come up behind the mountains. First under the covers, to wake Glorfindel from very restless dreams, then with his hips firmly against his partner's and Glorfindel's long legs tightly wrapped around his as his thrusts brought his lover to not one but two very vocal orgasms.

For now, they didn't address the subject of soldier training anymore. No one in this valley would have either time or nerves for such discussions in the next few days. But Erestor at least no longer felt like he could get through the rest of negotiations with certain Ladies, Kings, and spoilt Woodland Elf brats only with a high level of intoxication.

Before they parted at Erestor's door, ignoring, in perfect harmony, certain peeved looks from servants at the end of the hall, Glorfindel regarded Erestor with a slow, approving nod, still hardly enthusiastic-looking but at least honest.

For the two of them, the time after the end of the war would still offer enough excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the sexual techniques mentioned in this chapter: Irritable lube is not advised for beginners and definitely not without warning the partner beforehand, as the use is numbered among tunnel games. Besides, always keep an eye on the ingredients and don't mix lube yourself unless you know what you're doing, as unsafe substances in orifices can cause serious/unwanted/permanent damage. Always be safe when you practice BDSM.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple of references to previous series parts in this chapter, so here comes just a quick reminder.
> 
> Tauriel who shows up here in person for the first time, has been married to Camhanar for a while who was mentioned in series part 2. He helped Elrond forge Andúril. I chose to give Tauriel a role in this series recently because I very much like the idea of here, though I am notoriously not a big fan of the Hobbit movies. And I had a redhaired character similar to her in this series long before those movies came out. So I decided to merge those two characters.
> 
> Tegiend is Tarisilya's twin brother who strongly dislikes Legolas for getting Tarisilya to hide their love for so long. Tarisilya's father Vandrin left for Valinor in series part 1, Tegiend followed him in series part 2.
> 
> Part 2 of this series included the movie version of Helm's Deep. Haldir survived his injuries from that fight though, but very barely. Tegiend was in Haldir's marchwarden unit, the two of them are very close.
> 
> There's also references to Arwen's weakness from series part 2 (which was basically her soul being drained by too many memories, after she became mortal, as seen in the LOTR movies), and more references to her injury from the Battle of the Black Gate in series part 3. It's possible that the wound on her lower belly made her infertile which Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir are trying to remedy right now.
> 
> The "fate" of the moon as described in this chapter is something supposedly running in Tarisilya's family (series part 1). Tarisilya is being blessed with very good healing powers, like her father. Her big talent might only come from some healing spells she learned from him though, spells that many elves call dangerous and tempting since they're being close to dark magic. The moon's influence on such abilities is unclear. That these powers come with a price though, most elves consider definitely to be pure myth.
> 
> One of the people who tried in vain to convince Tarisilya of that at some point, was Erestor, after the two of them had a short flirt centuries ago (series part 1).
> 
> Thondrar is Glorfindel's second-in-command in Imladris' army. In series part 1, he brought Tarisilya from Imladris back to Lórien, after Erestor and she had a huge fight.

Arwen had braced herself for much rush in the guesthouse that Tarisilya had been placed in. All the more surprised she was to enter some almost empty chambers, an oblong box under her arm that not only her father's family crest but also Arwen's name were depicted on with silver paint.

The only elf present except for her friend, Arwen fleetingly recognized from the halls of healing where the other she-elf had been improving her abilities in the last few decades. She was sitting on the ground behind Legolas' partner, with crossed legs, busy with a plaiting recognizable only on second sight as Tarisilya's almost floor-length brunette hair, spread out on a clean white cloth in all its glory. The intently working helper had already braided half of it, in tightly twisted strands, into an artful net, every knot adorned with a red pearl.

While Tarisilya endured the time-consuming work without any protest, she didn't look particularly happy, at least not like one imagined a bride.

Well, today's ceremony that would usually have been held quite remotely, would without a doubt become a great event for Imladris that countless spectators would attend. First and foremost, such a wedding meant much work. Even more so, _this_ marriage representing a new friendship between two realms. And after there had been rather few new bonds for millennia at that, since most elves had already been drawn west for a long time and many wanted only there to start a life with a family of their own. All the more, the valley's residents were looking forward to the evening, especially after the report about Dunland.

When Arwen entered the bedroom, Tarisilya put at least on a well-trained smile quickly. "I thought you to be with His Majesty."

„Later. Elladan, Elrohir, and I only just finished the last healing session. And ada sent Aragorn straight to the tailor shop. He's not expected to be needing such fine tunics at our visit."

Tarisilya ducked her head a little. "Sorry. Actually, I meant to tell you two the whole thing in person right away, but I was under the impression, you needed some distance. And His Majesty _was_ nowhere to be found for days."

After a short time of rest, Aragorn had indeed ridden out – with Tercelborne, to go easy on Brego, and to teach the young stallion another few manners more – to meet up with several members of his folk, just as planned. Among them, the bluff but reliable Langhour who held the post as Chieftain of the Dúnedain whenever Aragorn couldn't exercise it himself. He would instruct what was left of their folk and scattered all over Middle-earth, with their tasks in the more remote parts of Gondor and in Arnor.

And when Aragorn _had_ happened to show up for dinner, Arwen's quite meager recovery progress had been the sole subject. So she had rather listened to more entertaining tales of her family about the last months, or similar stories from Thranduil's or Galadriel's mouth, before Aragorn and her had shared their usual thorough good-bye kiss – definitely the highlight of every single of these days.

"That's alright," Arwen quickly assured Tarisilya, fearing she might possibly blush. "I was busy packing anyway so that a carriage full of my belongings can be sent to Gondor. That leaves you far too much time to think. I was quite glad when ada's news about this day give me a wake-up call."

The terrible pictures of the first stage of their journey would remain in Arwen's memory all her life, nothing could change that, but she clearly felt that she had indeed made the first step of processing in the shape of the burial. Everything else, the time had to heal.

"I need a third hand real quick." Still indecisive about even being in the right place for her request or not, Arwen put the box on the dressing table, throwing the elf doing Tarisilya's hair a sympathetic glance.

This couldn't be too comfortable, especially since the pretty redhead was sporting a pregnancy bump under her loosely fitted dress that she was trying to hide. Right, wasn't this the new wife of the elf who had helped Arwen's father forge Andúril? Apparently, the two of them wanted to avoid too much attention, especially today. Children of elves had become something special in these realms ...

Well, it was certainly not a coincidence that it was this very she-elf who had been chosen for this task. Arwen vaguely remembered her to have been close friends with Legolas before moving to this valley, giving up her calling as a soldier at least for the moment, after a bad argument with Thranduil in the course of this whole dragon and Dwarvish affair.

Arwen and her own worries would only be bothering these two right now. "I'll come back when you're finished." Besides, she didn't want to undress basically in front of a stranger. Not with the traces on her body.

Fortunately, it apparently hadn't escaped Tarisilya that Arwen had always retired to an empty tent to change clothes on their journey already and that she'd only ever cleaned up in streams by herself.

"Stay, please. Leave us alone for a moment, Tauriel, please. Just for a few minutes, alright?" Tarisilya ignored her helper's murmured protest that she wasn't even close to being done.

"So much effort ... My father will reciprocate Lord Elrond better than I ever could when the Lord sails to Valinor one day." The attempt of sounding enthusiastic failed miserably. So that was where that face was coming from as if Tarisilya was supposed to marry her father-in-law. On one's wedding day, more than on most others, one wanted their family by their side of course, as a support and an escort into a new life.

"I wish they were here, too. But ada will most certainly commission one of our artists to do as many pictures of you two today as her hand can put on parchment. So at least your father and Tegiend will get a keepsake soon."

Arwen lovingly squeezed her friend's shoulder though the thought of saying good-bye to her father once more brought tears to her eyes. This wasn't about her. And even though Arwen wouldn't be granted much more time together with her closest relatives … At the very least, she would hopefully be lucky enough to get married in their proud presence. That was worth a lot.

"They would be standing here beside you right now if they only could, I just know that."

"Have you forgotten how little Tegiend thinks of our love? But the drawings are a wonderful idea. I didn't want to ask the Lord for even more. Tegiend can use the distraction, even if it's just him finally getting properly upset about something again. He left just as much here as I will one day, though he's deeply suppressed that back then." Tarisilya's fingertips slipped under the tight sleeve of her simple bright dress, rubbing the gooseflesh from her arms that Arwen knew about without seeing it.

"Helm's Deep very nearly made his best friend one of the far too many victims in this war, and he didn't even know about it. I didn't want to let him leave with that uncertainty. When it was finally clear that Haldir would make it, the ship was long gone. Lady Galadriel says, Haldir is doing a little better but Dol Guldur almost finished him off. Once Tegiend learns about that …" Tarisilya wiped her eyes, agitatedly.

"Enough of this. If we don't get you dolled up, the wedding can't start anyway." She motioned Arwen to shed her clothes and helped her wrap the new dress around her body.

The fabric, of the same deep blue color as Arwen's eyes, felt light and soft like blossoms, but the strapless corsage that wide sleeves were fastened to with precious silver threads, just didn't fit well. Thanks to her long sickness in the war, Arwen just still was much too thin. Unfortunately, no one seemed to have told the tailors that.

The silver embroidery at the corsage edge and the sleeves drew all the attention to that. Just like the delicate patterns at Arwen's waist, adorned with a small buckle in the middle, the two silver chains hanging from it reaching almost the seam of the wide flared skirt. Maybe later, she could hide her so unsightly-turned figure with the matching silver cloak …

Tarisilya didn't notice her conflict, she rather stared at the huge, oblong scar on Arwen's lower belly. "A body as pure as yours shouldn't have to bear such traces." She rested her fingertips on said spot disapprovingly. She herself would probably have made that look less conspicuous. Men in Gondor could use the support of an elvish healer. Tarisilya would hardly feel bored in the next few years.

"It's the mark of my own irrationality. Maybe it will remind me to listen to admonishing voices."

Arwen reluctantly stepped out of reach. Her fight for her life and the pain in the worst phase of healing was nothing she liked to be reminded of. The scar still hurt. As well as that touch was meant, she felt uncomfortable. And a little angry, because Tarisilya didn't even seem to think about that. Sometimes she had to remember that Vandrin's daughter in spite of everything she had gone through already, was still only a thousand years old.

Her friend kindly ignored the scene so it wouldn't become even more unpleasant. "Yet this is just as much a symbol of the courage you fought for this world with." With swift movements, she started to lace up the dress, loosely enough to conceal the flawed cut.

"I admire you, Arwen. You pursued the path back then that I dreamed of for so long as an elfling. I probably could never have mustered up that strength, even if I'd been allowed to. You can be proud of yourself. And if I'm identifying the jewelry around your neck correctly, others think so, too."

Arwen eyed her sharply in the mirror. "Too much desire to fight can poison the mind, Ilya, so don’t even think about it. Your helper out there, she had to learn that the very hard way, as far as I know. In Mordor, I only fought for selfish reasons myself. I was more afraid of dying without Aragorn than on the battlefield, trapped in this valley once the orcs would have overrun it. If I should die, I wanted to take at least a few of these creatures with me. That had nothing to do with courage. And I definitely didn't deserve any kind of reward for it. Haruni only insisted because of Dunland."

"Lady Galadriel's gifts are never given thoughtlessly. Shouldn't you know that even better than I do? I never saw her being wrong." Tarisilya stared down at her betrothal ring for a moment but downright forced herself then to lower her hand to not be overwhelmed by bad memories yet again.

"Sit down, I'll do your hair. You'll look beautiful as ever, believe me."

Tarisilya almost immersed a little too deeply in fixating a few of Arwen's strands with a hairpin in the shape of an emerald-adorned butterfly. Something other than just her family's absence seemed to be on her mind, but Arwen didn't ask. Usually, her friend opened up all by herself given enough space.

Once the brand-new tiara, in the typical intertwined shape symbolizing Imladris, had been worked into Arwen's hair as well, Tarisilya stepped back, satisfied. "As gorgeous as when Tegiend and I first saw you back then. His Majesty will worship you."

Her knuckles grazed, consciously or not, the cover of a red notebook on the table when she eyed her own reflection next as if she was looking for something. It was a writ that Arwen knew because her friend never left her home without this special token, but she had never been allowed to read it. "Me, I should better find some color for my cheeks though. I would hate to let my betrothed know that I haven't slept in days."

Of course. The sight of the pregnant elf had probably reminded Tarisilya how this evening would end. Even for very much grown-up elves, that meant a step into the complete unknown. At least if they – unlike Glorfindel and Erestor, more or less secretly – hadn't ever been in a casual physical relationship, which rarely occurred among their folk. And Arwen had to seriously doubt that Tarisilya was one of those cases.

"You're nervous, he'll understand. On such a day, which she-elf wouldn't? Especially considering how long you two had to wait for this wedding. But given how much he always worries about you, Legolas will treat you with extreme care."

"I never doubted that. I'm looking forward to it, that's not it. My body is ready for him, and my heart is happy; it is my mind that is dwelling in fear." Arwen's confused expression had Tarisilya slightly shake herself. "Forget it. You didn't come to listen to my worries."

"That doesn't mean, I don't want to know. What's depressing you so much that not even today, you can truly smile?" Arwen decided to return the favor from earlier and sat down behind Tarisilya like Tauriel had, to continue taking care of her styling, winking at her. Some things, you just rather trusted your friend with than a stranger.

"I usually don't like being a burden to anyone with the fate of my heritage. But I want to try at least to face my future husband with my mind unclouded. Here. _The_ _Book of the Moon_."

As Tarisilya's book opened, it revealed a drawing of the night sky over a clearing in Lórien. "Sometimes, we used to talk about it when we were younger, remember? That the Valar sun and moon were created with the same love, but that the moon was the star, first wandering the sky over Middle-earth. Ever since then, he is the beauty of the night. And elves in his sign carry the heaviness of darkness on their shoulders, just like he does." She paused. Arwen didn't dare to push her, given how whitish and hollowed the usually so soft features of her friend suddenly looked.

Tarisilya turned to the next page where a song had been captured, written in delicately curved, golden letters, a slow three-four time, noticeably convoluted in both script and phrasing.

_when the stars are right_

_a child of the moon is born_

_fate drowning in the dark_

_brought as pale and humble light_

_barely bright the night_

_like Tilion in the sky_

_child of the moon at journey’s end_

_find light of stars turning dead_

_and reward in the halls of eternity_

" _The Poem of the Moon_. You know that nana has been called to the Halls of Mandos after giving birth to Tegiend and me, right? What most people don't know, because it's happened so long ago, is that before that, her own mother has not survived nana's birth either. This song says, when the stars align, one life's burden is passed on to the next generation. Tegiend and I were born in the two-thousandth year of this Age. As soon as I give birth to the next child that the moon ever longs for … Who says, _I'll_ be allowed to witness the beginning of my descendant's story? The few records existing on people like me say, the moon always claims its position as a leader."

With tears in her eyes, Tarisilya traced the words that for centuries, apparently, had been influencing her emotional world far more intensively than was good for her. "I think, nana meant this to warn me. Ada and Lady Galadriel never wanted to hear anything about it. They always only see the shine of my gift, not its darkness. But why then have the stars lost their light for me, now of all times? It's always been clear to Legolas and me that we want children, and _we_ won't hold off on that until going west. This just scares me."

Arwen had heard enough; she struggled to retain her composure. Ironically, she felt thrown back to the beginning of this millennium when Legolas and Tarisilya, in this valley, had finally started their relationship.

In that ugly fight back then, after Aragorn's and Legolas' kidnapping, Erestor had thrown much in Tarisilya's face that had mainly sprung from his hurt pride because of that stupid thing between them centuries ago. Hopefully, by now, the librarian was over _that_ for good. But one of his infamous harsh assessments about Tarisilya might not have been entirely wrong after all.

"Ilya … Stop this, please. Didn't ada tell you more than once already that these books you speak of could be just as well nothing but retold myths? You only see what you want to see in them, and in this song because you're still missing your mother so much. I understand that quite well. And I definitely won't ever see mine again, you know." A few bright drops fell down on the silken sleeves of Arwen's new dress before she closed her eyes frantically, repressing this other pain inside of her as well.

"A twin birth is always dangerous. Ada says that nana has been very weak for days when Elladan and Elrohir had come. Many women don't even survive a normal delivery. Elves can be injured just like Men. Believe me, I should know," she added with a very weak grin, her hand placed on her fresh scar again.

"The Valar stopped intervening in the fate of Middle-earth eternities ago. Why should Tilion still do, and in such a cruel way at that? What was that you said, haruni is never wrong? And she's older than the moon, by the way." Straightening up on her knees, Arwen thoroughly wiped away Tarisilya's tears, gently holding her face between her hands when she felt how cold her friend's skin had grown from these so very destructive thoughts.

"Maybe your mother really did feel that her first life was ending. Everyone who's ever had the honor of meeting you or Tegiend knows that she had very strong mental abilities. Her fear of these suspicions might have expressed itself in these verses. But that has nothing to do with you. Even visions can change. Didn't we all think, Middle-earth was doomed to fall? And now Isildur's heir will soon be crowned in Gondor. We've both already been close to death and defeated it. Why shouldn't that work out for you again, if it should even come to that?"

Closing the book with a loud thud, she put it on a small cupboard next to the bed so Tarisilya would still be able to see it but would maybe not be so fiercely bound to it anymore. "These are only words. You're responsible for your life yourself. Do you really think, after all this time, Legolas would accept losing you to the moon? If one of the Maiar in person would seriously try to take you away from him, that would end with a doom of the Sindar this time, at most."

The small joke at the end fell flat. For seconds, Tarisilya just stared at Arwen, unusually speechless.

When she closed her eyes and after a long moment, opened them again, Arwen thought to notice that the melancholy that had actually always been in them, since she knew the other she-elf, had at least slightly paled.

" _Your_ fate, the Valar have guided for sure, I am now more certain about that than ever. Men need this fire in you that Lady Galadriel spoke of. I hope the day will come when I can do you a service even remotely as big as yours just was for me."

Arwen did an exaggerated curtsy to lighten the mood, relieved that this time, she could actually put a smile on Tarisilya's face. "At the latest, you'll have to if someone's not as happy about me wanting to shatter their beliefs one day."

"As if anyone could hold anything against you." Grinning, Tarisilya sent her outside where Tauriel was already shuffling her feet on the carpet.

King Thranduil, with his love of dramatic entrances, hadn't been the only shaking his head in confusion; but no one had been able to dissuade Legolas and Tarisilya from holding the ceremony in the comparatively plainly crafted, small garden of the guesthouses where their relationship had once started.

Therefore, additional seating areas had been arranged next to the few stony benches on the biggest meadow. Every table was decorated with the golden leaves of Lórien and brilliant blue flowers of Eryn Lasgalen. Countless white candles lit the evening, the trees all around were draped with precious long cloths. Soon, the moon would be rising over a circular small area, covered with snow-white blossoms, in their midst.

For now, though, the attendees still sat together with the bridal pair, enjoying a casual celebration, accompanied by occasional singing. Just like expected, more and more came. Aragorn was especially pleased about Glorfindel and Thondrar joining them who usually didn't like parties too much. That Thondrar in his resilient warrior tunic and the usual hood on his head didn’t quite fit a picture filled with fine robes and lavish dresses, didn’t really bother Aragorn much.

Erestor being notably absent was a great pity though, after his old friend had made such a big contribution to the Imladris Settlement being reached by the realm leaders yesterday. But his foster father had only an uneasy shake of his head to spare for Aragorn's question, where the librarian was, so he rather dropped the subject. Enough other elves had come to distract him from the small disappointment.

After the long ice age, it was still quite an abstract sight, Lady Galadriel sitting there, at Lord Elrond's table, with Thranduil, immersed in further harmless conversation about shared border security with both of them.

The protagonists, on the other hand, were busier with mutual pining, and Aragorn couldn't blame Legolas.

What by daylight had seemed like thin fabric in melting shades of red on Tarisilya, was turned by the stars and the moon into a gentle wave with every step, thanks to the inwrought silver threads. An effect strengthened by a low neckline trim bearing two recurring elvish letters. Instead of sleeves, translucent silver cloths swirled around Tarisilya's arms, almost reaching down to the dress' short train. The outlines of a corset showed at the dress top. When Tarisilya's hair slipped a little, a tiny patch of skin at waist level flashed, precious like the blossoms beneath her bare feet.

Legolas who had his arm proudly around his betrothed almost the whole time didn't stand out as much, certainly not as much as his father for example. His silver-gray festive robe was so generously cut that the lower part was exposed, like a cloak, to the temper of the evening wind, jauntily blowing around white tight breeches. His circlet was a lot less conspicuous than his father's infamous leaf-and-twig-crown, kept in place by thin chains wrapped around the top part of his hair.

The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen's reserved manner, the deep joy he was radiating, expressed something that not even the most extravagant clothes and no jewelry, no matter how rare, could have replaced: a glow from within, the proof that things could take a turn for the better if you wholeheartedly fought for it. Even if that sometimes meant making sacrifices. Although he was being very kind to all people congratulating, he refrained from too much talking. And when he felt unwatched, he let a certain kind of sadness show, just like Tarisilya, that a glass of wine couldn't hide.

"There's one Ring Companion that I wished to be here tonight, more than anyone," he sighed when Aragorn carefully asked. "When we get back to Gondor, you'll have to do without my help at the reconstruction, because a very angry dwarf will attack me with his ax."

"My friends in Lórien won't be happy, either," Tarisilya tossed in. "But in our homes, at this point probably, the invitations wouldn't even be done yet. Would you want to wait that long? In this place, we've been happy together for the first time. Gimli will understand that."

"He'll rather strike you with his ax handle because you robbed him of the chance to meet Lady Galadriel once more. Or maybe he'll burst into tears, depending on how you'll tell him."

Aragorn's amused smile quickly faltered when he turned back to Arwen.

His partner avoided it more and more to look straight at anyone. Slumped shoulders, a withdrawn expression, and an untypical complete silence showed that she was probably the only one who couldn't share the evening's mirth. And Aragorn had a pretty good idea why.

That was the first thing he had to take care of tomorrow. For the two of them as well, first considerations now would arise about when to give each other their eternal vows. By then at the latest, they wouldn't be able to hide anymore from all the responsibilities and duties not even half as joyful, that came with this bond.

For the moment, he could only be there for her with a caress of her hand under the table, and with the hope that the event wouldn't take too long anymore, that reminded Arwen so much of everything that would proceed with a lot more difficulty for her soon.

When Legolas noticed the bad mood, he stared at his old friend from across the table for a long moment as well. After a short kiss on Tarisilya's hand, he got up. "I'll be right back, elwen."

„Is the other half of the bridal couple now losing their head, too?”

No matter how fleetingly Tarisilya only knew Thondrar so far, she already had learned how to take such teasing. “Don't you believe it. I just better make sure that my future husband didn’t. His father would be very upset if the whole thing here was in vain.”

With a friendly nod, she wanted to push past Thondrar, to leave the small gap between a few tall bushes, and frowned when he didn’t make room for her immediately. “Something else?“

A hesitating look from bright blue eyes, from under this damn hood, met hers. “It’s none of my business, milady, I know that, but … Erestor is showing greatness by not being here today. Maybe you should follow suit and leave this thing behind for good. Talking to your betrothed about it is part of that. The silence about this old story has been soaring over the valley like a thundercloud for days.”

“Well, then it’s good that we're leaving soon, isn’t it?” Tarisilya retorted briefly. „I thank you for your concern and your council, but relations between my betrothed and me are indeed no one’s business. A millennium of pleasing others' wishes before our own is long enough. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Apparently, that sounded final enough to get Thondrar to go back to the others. His frown didn’t really look content.

Tarisilya vigorously pushed the short tinge of doubt aside. That was the very last subject she wanted to deal with tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there's another references to a previous series part that might need a reminder: The attack Legolas is talking about, happened in series part 1, in T.A. 3000, after Aragorn's and his first meeting. They were taken prisoner by a couple of Haradrim outside Imladris and almost died. In that battle, Legolas took a hard fall and was blind for a few days.

It wasn't hard to find Legolas when you knew your way around this garden. There was only one fountain here – crafted of plain dark stone, the statue of a woman sitting enthroned on the top pedestal –, so he couldn't have gone too far off the celebration. Tarisilya was not surprised to see him deeply bent down over the quietly gurgling water.

"Last time I saw that look on your face, elwen, you were arguing with Arwen about His Majesty, at the turn of the year of Men."

"Good thing you're a healer. With your lack of tact, you'd fail miserably as an advisor."

Sighing, she put her hand on his that was clenched around the rough basin edge. "You can't help her, not with this. That her decision for marrying a mortal would not only contain good, she always knew. Even if the Valar won't dare to punish her for her selfless efforts in war and she'll have her own family one day: She will never be able to forget her old one. This grief will haunt her all her life, just like mine haunts me. And unlike me, she will take hers with her into her grave one day. It's not only Aragorn's task to make this fate easier for her, it's his duty; especially since he's partly responsible for it." Even her betrothed was rarely unaffected by Tarisilya's striking voice, or her intense side-glance when she was patiently waiting.

At least, Legolas' tense position collapsed enough to take her into his arms. But the worry about his best friend that had so spontaneously flared anew in him still occupied him. Just like the last trace of irritation towards Aragorn that he might never be able to entirely get rid of, no matter how hard he'd been trying to suppress it ever since said first meeting with the future King. "Nevertheless, I hope that the two of us will be able to support her. As some of the last of our folk on Middle-earth who will accompany her on her way, that is _our_ duty, too. I just wish I knew how, when an evening like this already takes such a big toll on her. But that's not a subject for such a happy night. Please forgive my far-too-long absence. Let's go back."

"There are only a few spectators waiting there who, thanks to Lord Elrond's hospitality, are being perfectly taken care of." Tarisilya's gentle grip around his shoulders kept him in place.

"How is the night supposed to _be_ happy, when I see you suffer whenever you look her way? And you're not making that better by pretending, it is fine, Legolas. I prefer knowing what's going inside of you, no matter when, over being suddenly hit with it from behind. Concerning Arwen … You mean well, but I've tried already, both on our journey and here. Not everything can be solved with words."

"And some things, you solve only with the right ones. Aragorn was the one to make me see that back then, at that turn of the year. I wish I'd learned more from him." Tarisilya had expected more resistance. Usually, Legolas only talked about himself when he felt like it, not if he was being requested to do so.

What had happened between his father and Lady Galadriel, maybe had torn down the last paper-thin walls between the two of them as well, because now, they could be sure their relationship wouldn't cause their respective closest caregiver in these realms grief anymore. Finally, Legolas had opened up even the last part of his heart to Tarisilya.

"You do remember our captivity after the Haradrim Imladris Ambush."

"Better than I'd like to do." Not even Legolas' touch at Tarisilya's waist, right at the open laced part of the corset, could chase away the pictures immediately flashing in her mind. Her hand instinctively came to rest on his side, where a huge scar was. That wound had been exhausting; Elladan, Elrohir, and she had been busy with it for days. But it hadn't been the worst.

"I waited with hope and fear at the same time, for you to finally wake up. I startled every time you were moving. No one could tell if you would be able to see again."

"Sometimes it comes back." Just as big as his hesitation was to say it, the relief seemed to be, about finally getting something out that Tarisilya had not had the slightest idea of. "Very seldom. Sometimes, I'll forget about it for years. But then suddenly, everything goes black again. Sometimes it will last hours."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She backed away, completely dumbfounded. "I have helped you back then, I can do it again. As soon as we're back in Gondor …"

Legolas gently put a finger against her lips. "Eryn Lasgalen has healers too, moon-queen. Do you think I didn’t go to see them? Ada alone basically forced me at arrow-point on a regular basis. No one could ever find out anything. Whatever it is, some spell won't make it go away." Legolas' fear of the worst condition, an elf could be punished with, was hard to miss.

"If fate means to test me in such a way, the Valar have provided me with the most wonderful elf to get through it. Only one worry remains, that it will happen before I get the chance to look into the light of the Valar. Which makes the decision of where we want to live, and for how long, a lot harder. Since the war, my longing for the west is just as big as yours, you know that."

Legolas noticed how much his confession scared her, how firmly she nestled against him as if he would otherwise vanish right before her eyes, and did his best to smile, kissing her temple tenderly. "But these are thoughts about the future. Today, it’s the past that’s on my mind. After that battle back then … At first, I didn't even know what had happened to me. Aragorn delivered a show that would probably even have convinced Lady Galadriel that the two of us were only in a dark room. In case we would be rescued after all," he added when Tarisilya didn't immediately understand.

"He didn't want you to give up." Tarisilya took a short look back over her shoulder, to the side of the garden where the future King sat, for whom now she felt even more respect and affection than before.

"It kept me alive until Arwen and Thondrar found us," Legolas nodded.

"Since that day, I knew that I would never meet a better man than Aragorn. Why then does part of me sometimes still wonder if it's right that he is binding Arwen to him? Though I never tried again to discourage Arwen from anything, that is the part of me that sees water and wants nothing but to get out of here. The part that always wanted only the best for Arwen and knows that like every other elf, she could live a life of bliss in Valinor. Someday, when she would have processed the breakup. And I _hate_ this part. I wish I could just wipe it out. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so hard for me anymore to talk to them about all this, to comfort Arwen."

"But that wouldn't make any difference, elwen. Right now, there _is_ no comfort for her, that's what I'm trying to tell you. Maybe being silent is the exact right thing to do. Not even Lord Elrond could be sure if Arwen wouldn't be leaving after all. She was torn by this decision as much as every other elf. And for whatever reason, she felt moved to choose this path. That was her own decision. She never asked anything of you but to accept that. Just like she’s always accepted that you were born a warrior that she was always scared for. It might take a while, but on the day when _both_ of us will be looking into the light of the Valar …"

Standing on tiptoe, Tarisilya placed a kiss on both of Legolas' closed eyelids each as if that could keep away whatever was threatening his senses. "On this day, this pain will get easier for you to endure. And similarly, the Valar won't allow the savior of the Free Folks or his future wife to break under their happiness."

"Moon-queen … You could have even gotten Sauron to join us for a reconciliation feast." With the longest kiss they had ever shared, Legolas let her know how much she had just helped him. Freed of a lot that had recently weighed down on him, he could now approach the rest of the evening. Now it was only about the two of them.

This time, the sensation of his touch on her back made Tarisilya downright dizzy, in spite of her closed eyes. It was as if she’d never felt anything softer than Legolas' hair grazing the back of her hand when she timidly felt her way underneath his robe’s high collar. Never had a sweeter sound reached her ears than his relaxed sigh into their kiss. Not a single flower in Imladris could smell as sweet as the skin under her fingertips …

The last of her rationality quickly had her step away. "If Lady Galadriel sees us like this, she'll reconsider that blessing. Come on." She sneaked under his arm and wrapped hers around his waist. "Let's get married, elwen."

"A couple of thousand years weren’t enough to teach my son the virtue of punctuality." The moon had already begun its nightly journey, but the protagonists of the celebration still hadn’t returned. At some point, Thranduil just couldn't bite back a pointed remark anymore.

"Necessities or duties have no meaning tonight," Galadriel threw in diplomatically, with a well-concealed smile. "Don't criticize Legolas for the sake of the etiquette, just to hide that you're actually quite proud of him. A little praise never hindered anyone from continuously surpassing themselves."

Thranduil seemed to have a comment about unwanted parenting advice on his lips, but he fell silent when Legolas and his betrothed showed up again as if they'd heard the complaint.

Following Lord Elrond's encouraging nod, he got up instead and offered Galadriel his arm, ignoring the other elves’ bewildered looks as only a King could.

For a moment, the noble Lady herself seemed thrown off balance as well but she stood up so quickly that the hesitation attracted almost no attention. Resting a feather-light hand on the muscular arm, she accompanied Thranduil to the prepared spot. Two elves who couldn't have been more different. On the one hand, Galadriel in her simple white dress, with no jewelry, save for her circlet and a small clip in her hair …

And the elf by her side, with the many sparkling jewels adorning his hands and his hair, the skintight, midnight blue brocade robe, and a narrow sash. There was really nothing the two of them had in common. And still, Thranduil's so very natural gesture at the beginning of the last celebration’s last part spread harmony, even more than the gift of areas of his woods or his public peace offering.

Arriving at the edge of the circle of blossoms, as the King came to stand opposite her, Galadriel bowed her head his way for a long moment. "May there never be an evil star shining over our realms again, Your Majesty. So let us now unite what a Lórien night once brought together."

Thranduil repeated her gesture with a lot fewer words but just as much honesty.

Now the only thing missing was the bridal couple.

"With your permission, milady, ada, Lord Elrond …"

Tarisilya turned to Arwen. "Your friendship always was one of the biggest constants in Legolas' and my life. Please do us the honor and gift us with a song."

Even after several millennia, Elrond's chiding glance was still very effective, and it immediately found Arwen when she didn't react right away, a little blindsided by the idea of contributing something to the ceremony itself of all things, without any preparation. Well, that apparently made it clear what the couple had been conferring about alone so extensively earlier. Arwen wished, Tarisilya had chosen another way to stop her from being lost in thought.

"A wish of the bridal pair cannot be denied," her father quietly admonished her.

With the hint of a shrug, Arwen got up. "Don't say I didn't warn you if I ruin the mood with the wrong song."

She feverishly pondered on what would fit into a wedding. In spite of her long lifetime, so far, she just really hadn't witnessed many. Arwen folded her hands so she wouldn’t be tempted to start fidgeting with her sleeves and searched her memory indecisively.

Finally, she chose something of which she thought, the guests would appreciate it, considering its theme. She cleared her throat one or two times and then rather closed her eyes. She would soon enough have to see the others’ amusement again, about how much she had forgotten in centuries as a warrior.

_precious, alone in the mountain stood a flower_

_her silver blossom sparkling like a crystal_

_the stars smiled at her by night_

_the moon gave her its lovely light_

_touched by no one,_

_she grew wild and free_

_so no one dared to pick her_

_then there came the wanderer,_

_taken by his journeys to lands far away_

_crossing the mountain, his clothes looking ragged_

_he fell in love with her beauty at once_

_he came to pick her yet the lands screamed_

_fearing to lose their beloved_

_stars hid and moon didn’t shine that night_

_only to protect their little child_

_the flower waited silently, wondering how it would be_

_dreaming of the world’s adventures_

_wanting to leave her mountain_

_she opened her blossom, twinkling more beautiful than ever_

_from this day forth the wanderer took her with him_

_relighting his love, the flower shone at his breast_

_smiling at the stars and the moon above._

_see, she laughs, I loved being with you for so long_

_yet now there’s more than being adored_

_and lonely_

_now I know that happiness_

_is just a glimmer away from reality_

Many of the guests smiled openly at Arwen or regarded her with a wistful glance before they turned to the wedding again. So apparently, at least she hadn't been entirely off the mark.

The bridal pair now stood in the middle of the circle, opposite to each other. They, as well, regarded Arwen with grateful, admiring glances.

Then the attention was focused only on their partner though, of whom they had to part for the last moment; a short time compared to the long prior waiting but still painful.

Galadriel quickly put an end to the tension, stepping forward to rest her hands on her charge's shoulders and then put Tarisilya's right hand in Legolas' left, before stretching her arms wide in a gesture of protection.

Thranduil, on his part, joined Tarisilya's left and Legolas' right hand and held them for a moment, with a deeply fond, tearful glance into Legolas' eyes that didn't seem to fit the reputation of being a cold ruler at all. With his arms wide, too, he finally completed the outer circle of support that should forever keep the inner circle that the couple created, intact in its undaunted strength.

The most important section of the evening had begun.

"So give each other back now what has been witness to your common path until this day."

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. Neither of the parental speeches had been unnecessarily long, and neither had Lord Elrond's. And not with one word had Thranduil let it show how unthinkable this wedding would have been not too long ago. This evening, after a long time of disagreement, he clearly felt that he was no longer standing here as a son but that Thranduil had finally let go of him for good, allowing him to live his own life, and was accepting whatever might happen in it.

Almost at the same time, Tarisilya and he took off their version of Galadriel's Blessing, the silver rings that the Lady had given to her charge shortly before the beginning of the war, with which Tarisilya and Legolas had sealed their promise of marriage back then. Identical, simple jewels, the magic of which had shown how often the war had endangered their carrier. Important as that had been, now the relief of entrusting their partner with this symbol who would keep it with dignity and care but never wear it again, was big.

As if Elrond's long acquaintance with Tarisilya's mother back then would have let a little of the gift she was said to have had pass on to him, the light of the moon made the traces of age on his face disappear one by one. Maybe it was just the simple bright clothes or today's absence of any talks about battles ... At that moment, the Lord of Imladris finally represented nothing but the support again that he had founded for the elves with his realm, instead of the epitome of destroyed hopes and bitterness, one had often been confronted with in the past.

"Forged in the light of these realms to leave the past behind – for a future together." Slowly raising his hand, Elrond opened his fist, revealing two narrow golden rings. The current date was engraved inside of both. A ruby center stone was glistening in one of them.

"May the Valar be gracious, milord. We thank you."

Given how much Legolas' stomach suddenly fluttered, his hands were surprisingly calm when he put the ring on Tarisilya's right forefinger.

He only frowned for a second when Tarisilya slipped his ring on him then, at the idea of possibly having to go to battle with this unfamiliar, slightly restrictive feeling from now on. It was not for nothing that he'd been wearing his betrothal ring on a strand of hair till the last day of the war.

Probably guessing his thoughts, Tarisilya rested her right hand on his cheek. "View it as a reminder of your home whenever a battle is waiting for you going forward."

"No more talk of darkness."

Again this millennium's beginning was on Legolas' mind, the day when he had first seen Tarisilya again after their centuries-long parting. In another breathtaking red dress like this she had appeared before him out of nowhere, not a bit the childish elf he'd once got to know. Even back then when there had been no talk of betrothal, not even of a permanent relationship yet, he'd have loved to kiss her before they had exchanged even one word.

Now, nothing was in the way of that wish anymore, not even an etiquette that no one took as seriously as usual tonight. For minutes, they couldn't stop the tender touch of their lips. Finally, they were where they wanted to be. In a few hours, after the last ritual, they would finally be married – a bond that nothing and no one would ever be able to destroy.

In his head, Legolas' was actually already on his way to the guest house, he would momentarily take Tarisilya to, and turned to Lady Galadriel in slight confusion as she approached him.

The Lady just smiled. "Noldor tradition shall not be forgotten when one of their daughters is wed. Take off this circlet, Legolas. No longer shall you wear the title of a successor, despite your strength and courage long having helped to decide this world's fate."

Legolas hesitated but Galadriel surely wouldn't make a request like that for no reason. Was she _trying_ to bring Thranduil's wrath right back upon herself? Yet it didn't occur to him to object only because of a possible piercing glance from his father. Those times were gone.

Something cool grazed his hand. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe when he raised it and a piece of jewelry spread its brilliance far beyond the garden. It was the symbol of leadership, completely different from any crown, and still worthy of the rank of a commander. Two long leaves bent into a circlet of splendid silver, the unmistakable art of the Lórien forge. The left one had the pointed shape of the Mellyrn, the right one, the perfect curve of a beech. The tips met in the center and bled into a gleaming frame for a green jewel, shaped like an oblong drop. With the circlet upon his head, its tip would lay between his eyes.

" _Aldalíen_ , _Breath of Men_." Galadriel guided Legolas' fingertips over the jewel so he could feel its warmth. "It's long been a memory of past and better days for First- and Secondborn, almost forgotten in the chambers of Lórien, but now it shines anew in the hands of a child of nature. May it light the way that is left before you on Middle-earth, as a token of the peace that Men and Elves will part forever in one day. From the day when first residents of Imladris, Eryn Lasgalen, and Lórien will follow you and your soon-to-be-wife into the realms of Men, until the hour when you, as well, will go west forever."

Not for the first time, Galadriel showed Legolas a future that actually, he long knew. After all, thoughts about a Firstborn-realm in Gondor had first formed in his head already when the Fellowship of the Ring had celebrated the hobbits by the sick camp of Cair Andros, after the war. About damn time to leave the last doubts behind. There was no better way for him to keep on fighting for the safety of both folks. It was a task of which he had never thought to be able to fulfill it in the past, and he would never be as brilliant a leader as Aragorn. But his father had taught him enough to delight in this burden as much as he had to carry its weight. There was still much to do but someday, he would wear this circled with pride.

And another one, he would indeed probably never wear again. Though for Thranduil, there was neither necessity nor reason to ever cede his office to him, he expected at least disappointment from the King about Legolas' ready acceptance of Galadriel's vision.

Once more he couldn't bring himself to look into his father's eyes.

By force of habit alone, Tarisilya started a curtsy when Thranduil turned to her, waiting for the inevitably following tirade concerning Lady Galadriel's unsanctioned move.

But her arm was stopped before she could even lift her hem. Startling by the unexpected touch, she saw, without surprise, that Thranduil had the same narrow yet immensely strong hands his son had. "Your Majesty?"

"Have we not decided already that an elf who saved my son's life several times will not address me with my title?" For Thranduil, a smile was even rarer than for Legolas. All the more likable did it make his strict face look. "Especially not when she is about to marry him. And whatever people told you about me: I do not demand from my family to bow before me either."

When he took his hand away, something remained on Tarisilya's arm. While she had been busy not blushing, the King had crisscrossed thin chains of pure crystal from her elbow to the part between her thumb and forefinger. The chains passed through the frame of a crescent-shaped red jewel which now lay right above her wrist, the tight lacing protecting it from slipping or even getting lost.

" _Elcaradur_. The red star of the night."

Tarisilya's blush must be visible in the whole garden now. Surprised at how light the comparatively big jewel was, she touched it, noticing that it was twistable. When the curve was parallel to her wrist, suddenly it split across the middle, turning into a disc. Someone had painstakingly burned the detailed facial features of a she-elf on the inside. While her similarity to Tarisilya was overwhelming, she seemed more mature, and her eyes were slightly narrower. She was smiling in a careless way that Tarisilya hadn't been able to manage in a while.

"Not all that is gone is forgotten, child of the moon." Thranduil put a hand on her shoulder when she looked up, with tears in her eyes. "When your mother moved to Mirkwood back then, she was looking for solitude from the start. But when they first told me her name a few days ago, I quickly remembered our only meeting. I never forget a face. The memories of Lord Elrond and the Lady of the Golden Wood, as well, did their part to ensure that she will never be lost to this world again. May it accompany the talent of your healing hands from now on."

As if in a trance, Tarisilya stepped up to the King and embraced him, while silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn't care what anyone thought about it, or about Thranduil's posture clearly stiffening at this surprising approach. In no other way could she have expressed, with no word existing in Sindarin, what a unique gift he had given her there, worth much more than any jewel.

Only when she noticed that the other elves were smiling at the little scene, she quickly fled back to Legolas, not without thanking the Lord and her foster mother as well, with emotional bows. Her left hand was still wrapped around her newly-adorned right arm, unbelieving and careful.

Her soon-to-be-husband acknowledged everyone's help and attendance in a few short but honest words. Thereafter, several guests left the garden; so after a couple of last, short conversations, it wasn't hard for the two of them to inconspicuously stroll to the guest houses, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the wedding traditions in the ceremony are grounded in LACE. As it's probably not hard to guess, this is one of my favorite chapters of this whole series and I would love to know what the lurkers on here think, too :). Much of what has been talked about and happened in this chapter will have a heavy impact on the upcoming series parts, so stay tuned.


	13. Chapter 13 (M/F smut)

"Worried about Arwen again, elwen?" Tarisilya addressed Legolas again for the first time after the ceremony when he stopped, motionlessly, in front of the dresser that he had put down Galadriel's precious gift on, with his eyes closed and his hands folded in front of him.

"Already since our friendship began, but not right now. I'm just trying to catch my breath and delight in how many elves want to talk to us about the settlement. But tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with that again. Wait."

When Tarisilya approached him, still hesitantly, Legolas passed her by with a short kiss to her cheek, going back outside to the guest house’s small courtyard where a simple torch hung from the wall. Lighting a candle from it, he then passed the flame to many others on the table, the dresser, the windowsill, and the nightstands. A variety of candles in different colors and shapes that other elves had brought as gifts for them one by one in the last few days.

First, Legolas had thought this a weird tradition, of a curious and almost insolent character regarding this night. But now he was glad about it. The flickering wasn't as absolute as the darkness before but gave the few plain pieces of furniture an air of warmth. And it illuminated the she-elf in its midst in a way that, to some extent at least, did her beauty justice.

He had already looked at Tarisilya long enough today, so now he didn't bother holding back for long but took her straight and firmly in his arms. "My head still refuses to believe that we actually made it this far."

He must have said it out loud because Tarisilya lifted her head off his shoulder and tilted it to the side, catching his glance. "From the moment we first met at the Celebrant, the thought was always with me that someday you might become my wife. And yet the fear remained to the end that there would always be something standing between us."

He wanted to say something else, summon the trouble for the last time that had prevented their relationship for so long, but Tarisilya cut him short unceremoniously, covering his lips with hers. She took the initiative before he had even really thought about it, though he’d really had this fantasy long enough. It was just the necessary beginning that he hadn't known how to make, out of the fear of catching his companion off guard. Tarisilya just made it.

Legolas smiled into the kiss. Some things just never changed.

When Tarisilya backed away to probably say something as well that they long knew, he placed his hand on her neck, under that extravagant hairdo that could, fortunately, be easily pushed out of the way, and pulled her closer. Catching on immediately, Tarisilya parted her lips so his tongue could slide between them, touching hers.

That was as far as they had gone so far when the rare chance for a little solitude had presented itself. And at that point, they had always stopped, feeling _how_ quickly that might turn out to be difficult. Neither of them was among the few elves who could enjoy such pleasures without a bond, therefore, breaking such a strict rule had never have crossed their mind. Now that night of a permanent meld had come, now there were no restrictions left. That was something, one had to get used to first.

Tarisilya gladly accepted Legolas' silent invitation when he opened his mouth wider and pushed her tongue deep inside until it playfully nudged his, slowly feeling every spot it could reach, before Tarisilya’s racing breath made her break away. "I think I just tasted a trace of your father's wine." Chuckling, she touched her own lips with her fingertips first and then his, chipper already after one deep kiss that promised so much more. "Is it true what they say about its effects, my prince?"

Legolas guided her hand to his chest where his heart was beating so fast, so violently that Tarisilya could have heard it if they both hadn't been so distracted by excitement and nervousness right now. "This comes only from being close to you, moon-queen."

There was so much that he would have wanted to tell her right now; how sweet her kiss tasted, how much he could have got lost in her pure scent, that he could have spent a whole millennium, just standing there with her to memorize this moment. But words wouldn’t have done this feeling justice. Besides, he was yearning for much, much more of these overwhelming sensations. They would have enough time to thoroughly savor all of them in the course of their marriage.

Again, Tarisilya gave in to her impatience even before him. She let her hand slip upwards and unclasped his robe’s brooch between his collarbones so that it fell open, revealing the paper-thin white tunic underneath. Only when he just let the heavy fabric fall to the ground, Tarisilya, too, paused again. It was almost like at their very first meetings when every smallest approach had seemed like a milestone. You just couldn't get rid of the century-old fear of doing something indecent that easily after all.

But now they were officially allowed to do this, so Legolas guided Tarisilya’s right hand to the top button of his tunic, without any pressure, to encourage her. Continuing their kiss, he gently traced her lips with the tip of his tongue and carefully nibbled on her lower lip.

With her noticeably trembling hands, it took her a moment before she made it to open these few leaf-shaped silver buttons next, without tearing them right off. As a healer, it was unlikely that she was doing that for the first time; and doing treatments, she surely had seen more than enough naked skin already – including his own. In fact, more often than he liked to count. But never had he been allowed to feel her touch in such a way … and she hadn't been allowed to look.

Therefore, he wasn't surprised then when she reluctantly interrupted their kiss and stepped out of reach of his hand that had resumed that tempting fiddling with her corset laces. Only her astonished look back over her shoulder made him realize how many of them he must have casually loosened already. Tarisilya's dress started to slip down. That was something that he definitely wanted to expand on soon – though just the idea of having her before him completely bare soon had him blush fiercely. But first, _she_ was allowed to indulge in a thorough stare.

It was strange … Just a few hours ago, the mention of Legolas' first battle with Aragorn had instilled old fear in both of them. But now that Tarisilya saw this well-healed scar and a few others right before her eyes, she would hopefully be able to live with them better. Having survived all these injuries and even the repulsive desires of these Dunlendings in Helm's Deep, he was standing here before her now, and that was all that counted in the end. In this night that was only theirs, not even the worst memories of the war in Legolas' head tortured him.

On the contrary. By now, he startled at just the smallest touch, shivering in anticipation. At first only tentatively, with the same tender movements she used to help patients' pain, Tarisilya caressed from his shoulders downwards, boldly running her nails over his nipples on the way which earned her quiet hiss. As she was tracing the edge of his waistband, her eyes rested there for a moment, her notorious curiosity awakened by what was starting to show there more and more clearly. But the last of her own natural timidity was still in her way.

Only when Legolas pushed into her touch with a sigh, her fingertips started to draw first patterns on his skin, varying pressure mixed into her caresses. Enjoying instead of moving, for now, seemed to be the exact right motivation; they had instinctively gone from the initial rush to this mutual giving and taking. There was no reason to hurry. If they followed that simple principle, there would be no unpleasant sensations this night, and not in the future.

Only intensive ones. Especially in his nipples, Tarisilya had promptly found very sensitive spots, and it didn't take long before she started to exploit that shamelessly, kneading the hardened nubs tighter and tighter until Legolas' breath turned into continuous deep sighs, his eyes falling half-way closed.

Smiling, she buried her hand in his hair, mouthing his neck, his jaw, finally capturing his lips with hers again as their embrace grew even closer. Immediately, Tarisilya's posture stiffened when his arousal pressed against her stomach for the first time, when she felt what was awaiting her later tonight.

Legolas lovingly took her face in his hands. "Don't be afraid, Ilya. I won't hurt you."

"I know that." As if to emphasize that, she continued caressing him, stroking his back without moving away from him, even an inch, while their lips met again, without the slightly clumsy efforts that had been their first kisses.

Just as determined, she gathered her hair over one shoulder, so Legolas could properly reach her corset, whereupon the fabric soon sagged, enough to slip it off. She already raised her arm … and paused. It couldn't be _that_ easy after all. Except for her family and maybe some healers in Lórien, probably no one had ever seen her like this.

Legolas didn't want to unsettle her even further by maybe proposing to stop, to wait until she was ready … She was, she had shown him that clearly enough; all of this was just new to her, and to him, too. So after a slow, tender kiss to her forehead, he went to stand behind her and put one arm around her waist from behind. Her almost snow-white neck, the elegant long neck of a princess, immediately invited him to explore it with his fingertips and lips.

Soon enough, Tarisilya lowered her head to get more of those touches. She gasped for air as Legolas sucked on a particular spot, tenderly nibbling on it while stroking her side, her stomach, her hips. "Don't stop," she said breathlessly when he paused.

Instead of an answer, he caressed up her arms and back down, taking the sleeves of her dress with him in the process so they joined his robe and tunic on the ground. His lips moved from her neck to the round of her earlobe. After carefully using his teeth on that as well, he tried the same with the tip.

The effect was amazing. Tarisilya leaned against him heavily, biting her lip hard, as her knees visibly strained.

Legolas seized the moment to brush the rest of Tarisilya's dress off her waist. While his partner momentarily froze, noticeably trying to put herself together, he stepped back, slowly so she wouldn't startle, to revel in the view granted to him.

Pure skin, a tall but extremely petite shape, yet with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the deep line of her back … The attractive round shape of her behind … But her legs were the prettiest, with thighs for days and shanks muscled by centuries of riding. Under the pile of her clothes, Legolas thought to see a jewel sparkling on one of her ankles.

He wanted to touch every inch of this miracle, a thousand, a million times. But for that, he had to free his soon-to-be-wife from her shame first. "You are so beautiful, Ilya."

The admiring tone of his voice got Tarisilya to turn around, with a deep breath. Only slowly, she raised her arms and pushed her hair back again that was now all that covered her nakedness.

A few tears fell from Legolas' eyes. He didn't even have the strength to wipe them away, not at this moment when the love for this being that the Valar had blessed him with, overwhelmed him completely.

"Whatever happens, Ilya … Even if I will be denied to witness my eternity with my eyes open, I will not fear another second. For the gift of laying eyes on the embodiment of beauty has been bestowed on me. Not even the light of the Valar can top this."

Now there were tears in Tarisilya's eyes as well, and the hesitation finally lost its grip. Almost simultaneously, they approached each other, getting lost in their kiss again.

Tarisilya's velvety-soft skin against his felt better than he could ever have dreamed of. A first moan escaped his throat when Tarisilya pressed her hips against his, consciously this time, evoking the fantasy of what they both longed for.

With her getting more adventurous by the second, now it was her turn to graze his throat with her lips, following the line of his continually quicker pulse, his collarbones, leaving a kiss between them. That his waist was a little ticklish, drew an amused grin from her; her fingertips teased him there for a moment, but quickly found his waistband again then. Maddeningly slowly, she traced his belt, finally moving her hands to his butt.

The returned, aroused wait in his stance, how much he liked it when she was letting go like this, seemed to make it at least easier for her to pull the white leather from the buckle, though she startled anew when her palm brushed the hardness at his groin which tried to cloud Legolas' thoughts more and more. All the faster, she pushed his pants down before her courage could leave her. Her hurry veiled her eyes and her nails caught in the hem of his undergarments for a moment, but this time, she only pulled away long enough for him to shed the garment completely.

Soon enough, her hands were curiously stroking up and down his thighs, further and further upwards. Her eyes closed as soon as her right one felt for the first time what was so clearly showing under his undergarments, the dampness, the pleasant salty note of which had been in the air for a while now, mixing with what Tarisilya's body had started to produce. Her cheeks were burning, not with awkwardness any longer though, when she finally grabbed him, her grasp quickly becoming firmer when she realized how much he enjoyed the pressure, which made itself known by more than one rough moan from his throat.

Legolas had to catch her when her trembling body sagged against his again, the overload of sensations too big once more. Only when he gently took her hand away, a shiver running down his spine, all the way to his loins, made him realize how close he'd just been to completely lose control. After getting to know your own body, you started to forget about such sensations, since for most of their kin, they only became relevant again once they found the right elf or she-elf to bond with anyway. If Tarisilya had kept this up, it would have resulted in a temporary end of the night.

The longing throbbing in his groin made it hard enough as it was, to carry his partner to the bed, on unsteady legs.

"I'm sorry, elwen." Tarisilya nestled against him immediately when he sank down onto the mattress, laying on his side, with his arm still firmly wrapped around her waist. "I didn't mean to stop, it was just …"

Legolas quickly shook his head. "It's good you did. Nothing could be better than having you lie here with me." And with so few clothes on, it was much more intense than back then in the camp of Cair Andros.

For several minutes, they just enjoyed feeling their partner's body so close to their own, the nearness of intertwined limbs, the other's chest rising and falling against them, and foreign hair falling down their shoulder.

Only when Tarisilya didn't seem to feel that dizzy anymore, she raised her head, quietly clearing her throat. "I'm not exactly an expert on these things but isn't resting the thing that comes afterward?"

Legolas gave a laugh, a sound that had become rare in the war. "There's nothing that can rid you of your impertinence, is it?" he asked, feigning so much admonishment that Tarisilya lowered her eyes. He quickly lifted her head again. "I wouldn't want it any other way, moon-queen."

Her relieved answer was a light kiss that soon turned into a dance of their tongues just as teasing as their words … and their hands.

Again, it was Tarisilya who stopped Legolas' hand at her side then, to lead it up as she lay down on her back, her teeth worrying her lip in slight embarrassment.

Fortunately, Legolas had learned early how to make up for the unpleasant hardened imprints of archery in his palms with all the more cautious movements. Just brushing the side of Tarisilya's breast had her gasp audibly. Though Legolas wasn't quite sure yet how exactly to touch his soon-to-be-wife, she visibly liked what he was doing. A tender caress of fingertips, a firm one of his hand or of both hands, and the way he was kneading her nipples between his knuckles until they were hardening, the skin around them alluringly flushed ... Just like him, she enjoyed it most when he used some strength until her body downright reared up under it.

When Legolas drew back his hand to not overwhelm her, she let go of the pillow and pulled him close. "Will you let me look at you now, elwen?" she asked quietly, right against his ear. The shivers spreading immediately at the side of his neck spurred her on further. Her teeth on his ear didn't feel quite as intensive as she had reacted to it earlier, but it was enough to already make him forget her request again.

So Tarisilya just slipped her hand inside his undergarments, only giving a quick stroke to what was underneath this time before pushing the fabric down, carefully, probably afraid of hurting him.

But his moan was not one of pain – on the contrary. The stronger tremble in his body as well resulted only from already mustering more control than his lack of experience allowed.

And Tarisilya didn't miss that. With her right hand tenderly placed on his cheek, she stopped her lips just an inch away from his. "I want all of you now, elwen. We have all the time we want," she reminded him when he looked at her doubtfully. "I want to know all about you, every single way to love you. But now I want to finally become your wife."

"So it shall happen." She voiced the exact wish burning in Legolas since he had first seen her without her clothes, so he didn't see a reason to protest. There were countless other nights ahead of them.

No matter how big Tarisilya's arousal might be, the moment his hand slid to her thigh, brushing the inside, nudging her leg to the side, he saw the unease flash in her eyes again and paused immediately.

But Tarisilya nodded trustingly against his other hand. His touches playing with the wetness of her most intimate spot were feather-light until her hips thrust down instinctively, towards the stimulation. Her doing so had a very sensitive spot press against Legolas' fingers which made Tarisilya moan so loudly that she bit her lip, just like earlier, looking startled.

"Don't." Legolas kissed her lovingly, tending to this special spot with a few first circling touches. "It's good to know that you like it."

Nothing had ever felt as exciting as letting a fingertip stray between Tarisilya's reddened and slightly swollen folds, endlessly careful, finding his way inside of her. When the second finger came, she pushed against it, no longer holding back her moans. Her just as quick as shallow breath revealed that it turned her on just as much as him, imagining how it would feel once it wasn't his hand down there anymore.

Silently, she laid her hand on his neck to make him open his eyes, once it was three fingers filling her, seemingly without any discomfort on her part. She couldn't bring herself to say it; for that, all of this still was too new after all. So she just spread her legs further.

Given their almost identical height, his face was still close to hers when he laid on top of her, braced on his arms and thighs as if his hardly noticeable weight could take her breath away. A shiver ran through his whole body just from his groin touching hers, but he paused. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered when Tarisilya pushed back a strand of his hair questioningly.

She wrapped her arms so tightly around his shoulders as if she feared, he might cop out of this. "We went through worse to make it to this night, elwen."

And still … When their inexperience got the better of them, his cock slipping between their bodies instead of into her, he was glad it did, since it was only the way, Tarisilya let out her breath that made him notice how tense she was.

Straightening up slightly, Legolas' right hand caressed Tarisilya's thigh, the inside, moving upwards. He gasped a hardly audible breath as his cock was highly sensitive even to the natural grasp of his own hand, and approached her warm opening again, this time a lot more controlled, thanks to the little support.

Just as slowly as earlier, he requested entrance without forcing it. When Tarisilya's muscles clenched down on him, he let the tip of his thumb tenderly wander over that one spot that had given her so much pleasure earlier, just enough to make her yearn for the satisfaction he wanted to give her. Like he would have plucked a leaf off a branch, with the same respect and carefulness, he slowly pushed inside her.

With a moan, Tarisilya pressed her forehead against his shoulder, trying to hide the tears on her cheeks as if he hadn't long sensed them in the air. Or as if he hadn't long felt the overabundance of her joy, wonder, and love, in the vague bond that Tarisilya's ability to read others' minds - even without a mental bond, a talent that had become very rare these days - had created between them from the start. A bond that had just become a constant pulse of pure emotion between their souls, still very quiet and untrained, but undeniably existing.

It was alright. He was crying a little too. Tears like these never came from grief.

"Now we are one, elwen. Nothing will ever come between us anymore."

"Never again. The night isn't over yet, though." Legolas captured her lips in passionate kisses until she started to move against him on her own accord. His fear that she could be in pain was definitely unfounded. When he carefully pulled out of her an inch or two and thrust deep inside her again, enjoying the sensation even more consciously, they moaned out simultaneously.

Tarisilya urged him on more and more insistently, so they lost themselves almost in the same flow of loud breaths and occasional groans soon that gradually swallowed up even the last thoughts.

Only for one more moment, she searched his eyes when they both felt that this game would soon come to an end, for a question that wouldn't have been necessary, about if he was ready to start building the happy little family they both craved so much with her.

His smile seemed to say enough; he saw it mirrored on her face before she closed her eyes again and her soul opened up for him even a little bit further. If the Valar were willing to entrust them with children, neither of them would be in the way.

The heat in Legolas' body continued to increase, in a calm wave, until he finally reared up, the lust distorting his face so much for a moment that it almost amounted to pain … Only there wasn't any.

Breathtaking as that was, a little disappointment arose about Tarisilya not experiencing this last explosion.

"Don't, elwen." She didn’t let go of him when he took his head off her shoulder, after a few long moments of dizziness and of only slowly fading energy, his lips tight with shame. He was already about to lay beside her again and at least spoil her further with his touch, but she wouldn't have it.

"Don't you know how happy you just made me? To feel you in me, all of you …" A last moan on her lips, she pressed her hips into his, deeply breathing in the weak scent of what the end of their game had triggered in him. "I couldn't have wished for anything better on our first night. Everything else can wait. Stay, please. Let me feel you, as long as possible."

That at least he could do for her, not completely convinced by her words but just as happy as she was, and pretty exhausted.

Only when Tarisilya's calm breathing and the way, her eyes were filled with vivid pictures, let him know that she had fallen asleep, he came to rest next to her. With his head on her shoulder, nestled against the softness of her curves, the veil of dream quickly clouded his sight, too.

Aragorn wasn't being drawn away from the celebration just yet, and Arwen didn't want this evening, maybe the last in the circle of her family, to end earlier than necessary anyway. Sitting together at a table with her brothers, Glorfindel, Thondrar, and a few old friends after the ceremony, she lost herself in mutual storytelling over a few glasses of wine. Every now and then, she even gave a laugh, which suddenly almost sounded a little _too_ cheerful though. Apparently, a few still quite immature elves were faithfully making sure that her glass was never empty,

Not good. Thranduil's house wine had its reputation for a reason. And Aragorn had to call to mind again and again that thanks to his partner's decision in the war, her body wasn't half as resilient as before. Especially given her medical condition, it was a bad idea, numbing her senses so much.

Without further ado, he came to stand beside her, gallantly offering her his hand. "Shall we dance, mîl nín?"

As she didn't react right away, he bent down to whisper to her his well-meant warning, whereupon she gladly went with him towards the musicians after all.

"I'm surprised you don't know the strategy. You grew up among soldiers, didn't you?"

Arwen rolled her eyes. "Imladris guards never get ideas like that. Probably because my brothers would cut them down to size. Or Glorfindel. The younglings over there are just being lucky that the three of them had a drop too much themselves right now."

She shook herself a little; she probably really started to feel the alcohol going to her head now. "I should thank you for paying such close attention to my cup."

"Well, it's not like I could have carried you to your chambers later when you would have been too drunk to walk. Unlike our dear newlywed friends, the future King and Queen cannot afford such rumors." Aragorn winked at her teasingly.

Several elves were already dancing with their wives or partners on the grassy small floor. Two she-elves were among them as well, caught up in an intimate embrace, and two elven warriors who apparently had just recently found love amidst the war's strains.

Arwen watched them, slightly skeptically. "I hope you know that I haven't danced in quite a while."

"Wait, they're about to switch."

And Aragorn was glad about the new, less jaunty tune. Though Arwen was doing a little better and would at least be able to sit on her horse with both legs on one side on the return journey, he wouldn't have wanted to exhaust her with too many quick movements.

Listening to the sound of the melody, a harp player at the edge of the floor was producing, he pointed at the formation of the beginning group dance. "Uncomplicated. We've already joined one of those at that celebration at the turn of the year back then."

"You took away my glass too late for this," Arwen sighed, but then surrendered to her fate.

Even tipsy, Aragorn's partner lost none of her natural gracefulness or the skill that elves mastered at almost every physical activity. All it took was a few repeats of the basic figure before she remembered. Soon enough, she was moving by herself to the catchy rhythm, not overthinking anymore. With her arms drawn close to her sides, she followed the steps that first separated her from Aragorn and then brought the partners back together.

It turned remarkably silent suddenly. All the elves at the tables turned around to watch Elrond's daughter, how her swaying had her thick curls fall into her face, her skin a gentle glow in the moonlight, her chuckle the most beautiful sound of all. The repeated, merciless reminder that their new lives in the west would rob them of this enchanting sight forever, dampened the mood considerably.

Arwen had apparently got absorbed in the dance so much that she didn't even realize. Her loving eyes rested only on Aragorn, and the expression of earnest, unabated love in them healed at least a few wounds from the last year. Many changes, not all of them pleasant, were turning both their lives upside down right now, yes, but what connected them would always remain.

Only as the last tones faded, Arwen stopped, slightly out of breath. She had to hold on to Aragorn, and he put a supporting arm around her immediately, cursing his carelessness.

When people started to applaud, Arwen blushed. "You _really_ should have taken the wine from me sooner."

"But then I wouldn't have got a chance to finally see you dance again after all this time."

With a gentle grasp on her elbow, Aragorn led her to the exit. Enough adventures for today. Besides, he wasn't sure if he could have borne it for long, how depressed the faces of his friends all around them were now looking.

"I hope you'll excuse us. We should rest a little. We mean to leave right at the break of dawn."

He was relieved when there were no objections.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that, we have reached the end of part #4 of the series, and part #5 will start in a week. Let's just say, you've seen the last of fluff for a while ... Check out part #1 to #3 here on AO3 if you haven't so far! And if you're here and reading, I would love to hear from you occasionally. The whole huge drama storyline of the series is just about to start, and it would make me very happy to know who of you will be around to suffer with me <3\. Also big thanks to my lovely inwiste and aikanaro who keep on motivating me with their support to keep on publishing this thing.

In spite of the late hour, Arwen wasn't tired yet. Aragorn and she followed a narrow, overgrown path through the many other adjacent gardens of the guest houses till they reached a big marble fountain where they sat down on a bench, silently watching the stars for many minutes. Both of them, without a doubt, with the same anxious question in their heart if this was the last time, they were seeing them from this place.

How Arwen would have loved to stay a little longer, far from all worries outside the valley … But now that her healing had been declared complete, the four of them had to return to Gondor as soon as possible.

Not least because yesterday, an urgent message from the capital had announced, to their mild surprise, that Faramir's wedding with Éomer's sister would shortly take place. No one had expected that this romance should turn into a marriage so rapidly, that had developed between the two young people during their stay in the Houses of Healing, after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

Aragorn's presence in Gondor was now required more than ever, but Arwen dreaded the voyage home already, considering what had happened on the way here.

Her father and the twins weren't exactly happy about them heading out on their own again either. But until this thing with the Dunlendings would be over who did seem to have chosen elves of all beings as their target, every soldier was needed here. Once the date of the coronation would be fixed, at least a few valley residents would leave for Gondor though, Elrond had already assured that.

Especially Thondrar, who had safely brought Tarisilya to Lórien once before, didn't like that at all. The occasionally slightly unrestrained warrior would have loved to make another contribution like that, especially since he would soon be in Legolas’ service anyway as Arwen had learned earlier.

But Elrond and Glorfindel hadn't budged. For now, the safety of the valley still came first.

Another long, possibly highly dangerous ride it was then, and there weren't many more delightful things waiting upon arrival. After her own wedding, Arwen would spend many months in uneasy uncertainty, maybe even years. Ever until it would be ultimately clear if her father's and her brother's attempts to cure her infertility had been successful. Not a time she was particularly looking forward to.

"I've seen you smile, a little bit at least, for the first time in a while earlier," Aragorn spoke up quietly. "I wish it would have lasted."

"Silly cackle is more like it." Arwen covered her face with her hands for a moment. "You know, you could have warned me about that brew from Eryn Lasgalen, after all, you've been there before. Was the King secretly trying to make sure that there'll be no consummation for his beloved offspring tonight?"

"Legolas can't be robbed of his senses so easily." At the saucy innuendo, the corners of Aragorn's mouth twitched. "After three thousand years as a Mirkwood marchwarden, you probably inhale that stuff for breakfast. I, however, woke up somewhere in the Mirkwood palace after one glass too many more than once, with no idea how I got there. But somehow, Legolas always made it to get me to my chambers in time, so his father didn't have to write peeved letters to ada about his failure of a foster son. Even in Helm's Deep, after two barrels of ale, Legolas was only slightly tipsy. And even that was probably only because I'd filled him up with pain-relieving herbal tea before. One of the more entertaining evenings we had in Rohan."

The grin didn't stay on his face for long at these memories. Too deeply were the grim associations of violence and blood connected to the day after the battle at the Hornburg.

And it wasn't only the almost lethal attack on his best elf-friend still on Aragorn's mind. Arwen knew how much it nagged him that he had given up one of his oldest acquaintances of Lórien in that fight, though there had been a tiny spark of life left in Haldir's badly injured body. Surrounded by thousands of enemy blades and countless dead, shaken by wrath and the energy of pure despair, it really was no miracle that in that short moment, Aragorn hadn't been able to see or feel that. Nevertheless, if the duties waiting for Aragorn in his Kingdom hadn't forbidden it, his sense of responsibility would probably have led him to the Golden Wood next, to make up for what he'd missed.

Arwen didn't want her beloved beating himself up once more, over things, no one else was blaming him for.

Haldir probably would have broken one of his old friend's ribs with the handle of his sword if he knew how much Aragorn was torturing himself. If he'd even been capable of getting out of bed right now.

Taking advantage of being unwatched, hopefully, so no one would be able to tell Elrond about the unbecoming behavior of his long-grown-up daughter later, Arwen put her hand on Aragorn's cheek and covered his lips with a kiss. For seconds, she enjoyed the pleasantly soft sensation of the thick dark beard that her companion was finally properly grooming since the last battle, lightly bit down on his lower lip until she felt a deep sigh in his chest. Much better. "It's over, Estel."

"I know. But not forgotten by a long shot." Putting his hand on hers, Aragorn absently pressed his lips to her palm which drew a pleasant shiver from Arwen in turn. "We should probably really try to sleep. But my mind can't calm down."

Letting go of her, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, giving Arwen the chance to take a closer look at his slightly hollowed features. No, the frights of the last year definitely weren't processed yet. The worry concerning their relationship did the rest. "If you're not feeling tired yet either, I'm happy if we spend the rest of the evening together."

"I would love to, but not here." Arwen pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. As the hour grew late, the night became chilly, which her body, reacting more and more like a mortal's, wasn't tolerating well at all.

Aragorn opened his eyes to a slit and watched her from the side. "Ada's palace should be as good as deserted at this time, shouldn't it? How about we go to one of the guest rooms? Then there'll hopefully be no stupid gossip."

"There would even be if we spent the night on two opposite mountain-tops." This slightly naive illusion, Arwen had to shatter. Actually, Aragorn had lived at this court and at on others, of strange realms, long enough; he should have known, gossip was part of the daily routine there.

Fortunately, her father usually knew well what to make of rumors. So they could probably afford to spend a few hours in the tightest of spaces, far from watchful eyes.

"But a fire sounds good right now. Or you'll have to prove your healing abilities yet again on the way back because the coldness has made me sick."

Arwen could have predicted precisely the moment when Aragorn frowned and wanted to start arguing before he remembered that it wasn't half as impossible as in the past that this happened. Now it was him, crossing his arms under his heavy wine-red cloak, shuddering. "That's the last thing we need right now."

"Don't worry, it's not going to happen _that_ quickly. Apparently, too much wine makes you talk nonsense. Let's go." Firmly linking arms with Aragorn, Arwen left the celebration behind for good that, no matter how wonderful it had been, had made it clear to her in more than one way that her life hadn't got easier one bit after the war.

Indeed, they didn't run into even a single servant in the wide halls of Arwen's previous home, adorned with numerous paintings of their ancestors. Unhindered, they could enter one of the bigger chambers on the ground floor, designed for close friends, that hadn't been used for quite a while. Most of the rooms that it consisted of, provided a view east.

"Sit down, mîl nín. The evening was long enough. You still need as much rest as possible." Aragorn pointed at a leather sofa in the living quarters and started to rummage in the opposite cabinet.

"Didn't a delegation from Lórien spend a few weeks in here once? If I remember marchwarden customs right, actually, there should be … Knew it." With a pleased nod, he got a small, unopened barrel out of a heap of blankets and parchments. "A remnant of the prewar period. Don't worry, it's only meant for me." With the find under his arm, he moved to the cabinet in the simple cooking area nearby next and searched for two glasses. One of them, he filled right away from the water barrel next to the stove.

"Our conversation earlier reminded me painfully that I didn't even have an hour so far, to take the chance and honor our friends who fell in Helm's Deep in a way appropriate for them. Let us drink to them, and to the elves we had to see off in Dunland so shortly ago."

"Then bring a third glass though, mîl nín. You can't drink to anyone with water. It's alright." Arwen sighed and shrugged when Aragorn took a questioning look back at her. "One glass more or less won't make a difference at this point. And fortunately, tonight I won't have to sing anymore."

"As you wish. At least this stuff isn't half as strong. Or maybe I just spent too much time with Haldir and his troops back then and became immune to it."

After they had melancholically raised their glasses towards each other, Aragorn's posture still didn't relax much. His eyes were fixed on the window, his hands ceaselessly turned and twisted the glass, which didn't put the wine at risk though – shortly after having been poured, it was almost gone already.

Arwen herself only sipped on hers, furtively eying her beloved. "Did you get lost in old times, Estel? Was your life alone, as a soldier, so much better?"

"Of course. I never want to be without you by my side again." His kiss to her hand seemed honest.

But only after several more long minutes, he raised his voice again. "It's just … Everything I need for my future office, I learned either in the long years of loneliness or in my time in the armies of Men and Elves. For decades, I didn't live for anything else, putting even my most basic needs in the background. Though I have built strong friendships with the other Dúnedain and many soldiers: After childhood, I was mostly a stranger to having company for longer than a few weeks in a row, or months at tops. I'll need to get used to that again. And now that we're leaving ..."

Once more, he raised his glass to her. "I was sixteen when I last deliberately drank so much in such a short time. I shouldn't doubt that I'm ready for what is coming, right? I left out nothing to prepare myself. Unfortunately, both the countless losses in the war and on this journey showed me how much has really been destroyed and how little I could do to prevent it. If I long to be back in the wilderness from time to time, it's because of the natural fear that I won't even live long enough to heal my country. And that I'll leave back too little for it."

Arwen put her glass aside and took his away from him, too, to grab his hands. "You will, Estel. I just wish it wouldn't be me of all people who'll make it hard for you to fulfill one of your most important duties. But we can think about that when it comes to it." Her thumb caressing the back of his hand, she did her best to nod at him encouragingly.

"I'm afraid, in the worst-case scenario, we won't have many alternatives. The people _will_ be asking for an heir to the throne. It won't matter if we are ready for that or not. Leaders live for their people, regardless of what is going on in their own hearts. Or what the laws of nature say."

When Aragorn felt how much Arwen's hands were suddenly trembling, his smile immediately became less bitter. "But I could wish for no better person by my side to master even this situation, mîl nín. Together, we'll get through this … no matter how. For my part, I'm praying that you will still never lose faith in us in this crisis." Before he reclaimed his glass, he tenderly caressed Arwen's forehead.

A far more pleasant sensation than the ongoing fear of the future. "As if I will ever leave you again. Our life is only just beginning, you know." Arwen gently ran her fingertips through his beard again, then through his long curls. "And you can't live it in grief, Estel. You keep on going on and fighting for this world. With that, you honor the ones lost in the war enough. At least about those from Lórien, we don't need to worry that much anyway. They are only lost to _this_ world forever."

Her hand was being stopped; she wasn't sure if Aragorn had even truly understood her words. He nuzzled against her palm as if that gesture had the same numbing effect as the alcohol. Her other hand that had instinctively come to rest on his chest, he kept tightly in his as well. Finally, the last weeks' constant tension lost its grip on him a little.

Well, if she didn't make much of a difference with words, this would have to do. Arwen caressed down to his neck, leaning in closer to let her lips brush his. This was probably not the best idea, seeing as they were being alone in here, at the latest hour of the day, but right now, she couldn't care less.

Aragorn obviously felt the same. Suddenly, there was a strong hand on her neck, holding her in place, and then the future King impressively showed how a kiss could be if one forgot about any etiquette whatsoever for a change. Impatiently, the tip of his tongue traced her lips, searching for entry while his free hand wandered over her back, finally slipping lower, tightly grabbing her behind.

Blindsided by his sudden eagerness, Arwen tensed for a moment, until the indecently intimate touch sent shivers down her spine. Curious about experiencing more of that, she sat sideways with her legs resting on Aragorn's thighs, nestling closely against him. As they were resuming their kiss, Arwen quickly felt his tongue slip back into her mouth. Her attempt of getting more active herself hardly stood a chance against that, and finally, she let Aragorn lead. After all, unlike him, she did miss experience in this field. Nothing wrong with earning some today. Arwen let herself fall.

Aragorn's caresses on her legs, her side, wiped away all thoughts, one by one, and intensified the heat rising in her. The wish to feel more of him became overwhelming. She backed away for a moment only to gasp for air, smiling as she straightened out her companion's slightly messed-up hair.

That she didn't shy away from him, on the contrary, seemed to egg Aragorn on further. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he gently pushed her back on the sofa until she was half-buried under his heated body.

A pace that, under normal circumstances – if she hadn't felt so dizzy –, would probably have frightened her. Something could develop from it much too quickly that simply was taboo before their wedding night. But she wasn't ready yet to let this unexpected closeness to the man she loved be ended.

The skilled, very light caress on the inside of her leg that made a point of never approaching the spot where she felt an increasing emptiness, reminded Arwen again that Aragorn had had a couple of women - and also one or two male soldier comrades - in his tent before they had got betrothed. This was not something one learned in theory. Though that had never bothered Arwen, she suddenly did feel inferior. Only when Aragorn's lips extensively explored her neck, his hand ever so tenderly grazing the underside of her breasts, she forgot her slight insecurity. She was almost disappointed when his right hand wandered back to her leg, but only until it worked its way under the hem of her dress.

Deep sighs had long started to break from Arwen. She would have loved to touch her partner, too, which he made almost impossible though. His kisses that shifted from her shoulder to her collarbone, then to her neckline, his hot breath on her skin, drove her out of her mind. The further Aragorn's hand on her legs slipped upwards, the more her yearning increased to feel his touch between them as well.

Shaking more and more, she whispered Aragorn's name, choked, which her companions seemed to see as a sign of being allowed to go further. Suddenly was fully lying on top of her. Through the fine linen fabric of his breeches, she could already feel the hardness between his legs and pushed against it instinctively. Aragorn's hand tightened on her neck, he uncontrollably moaned into their kiss.

He already started to push her dress all the way up when Arwen suddenly stiffened and held his wrist tight. The slightly grumble of disappointment escaping his mouth even as he was immediately backing away, somehow flattered her.

"No … Not because of _that_. Wait. I need to …" Jerkily shaking her head, she sat up, agitated.

Apparently, by now Aragorn's mind was so clouded that he didn't even hear someone knocking at the door.

Her face deeply flushed, Arwen tried to straighten her dress as quickly as possible. Since Aragorn had dangerously loosened the laces on her back, she just grabbed her cloak and threw it on. Thanks to the disturbance, the tumult of her feelings subsided, from one second to another. Only now she realized what Aragorn and she had almost done. She felt hot and cold all at once. Valar, _that_ had been a full blackout. She would never ever touch any wine again in her whole life …

Aragorn still didn't stir, not even when the voice of the host of all people called his name in the hallway. Only when Arwen murmured to him that he had to do something, he raised his head. Finally, his expression cleared up when he saw her trying to smoothen her dress. His forehead wrinkled in deep annoyance.

The obstacle in the shape of the door couldn't lock out the authoritative sharpness in Elrond's voice. For a moment, Arwen had probably lost the discipline earlier that she usually used to make sure that in spite of his well-trained mental abilities, Elrond wasn't reading her mind all the time, and he had witnessed a lot more of what had been going on in here than Aragorn and she would care for. "Estel, I know you're here."

Arwen only grew more nervous with each displeased word. She scurried into the rearmost corner of the room where she couldn't be seen right away, though that probably didn't make a difference anymore. If Aragorn at least wouldn't be looking at her that indignantly …

His voice sounded similarly harsh when he opened the door a few inches, unwilling to let his foster father in. "Please go, ada. I'm quite tired."

"And in the wrong chambers for going to bed, I would reckon. Cut the nonsense, will you? I'm worried about you and my daughter, Estel. And looking into your foggy eyes, I feel validated. I only want to keep you two from further drowning in your pain. You two are only hurting yourself." Elrond made a move to just step forward.

But this time, Aragorn braced his hand against the door. "Don't worry, enough wine has been consumed for one night."

Elrond thrust his jaw forward in irritation but then turned away, with a resigned sigh.

"Well, since my foster son refuses to have a conversation, I would like to talk to you, Arwen, at least." Without even waiting for an answer, he quickly walked down the hallway.

Instead of offering her to follow her father together, to make this right as fast as they could, Aragorn just silently eyed Arwen's rueful position, her hanging shoulders. Stepping close to her, he carefully pulled the hairpin and the askew circlet from her curls. "You shouldn’t make him wait. He’s angry enough." After a furtive kiss to her forehead that felt almost forbidden, he murmured an unintelligible farewell before entering an adjoining room and closing the door behind him.

Arwen couldn't say a single word. She felt close to tears once more.

As feared, she was already being expected in her personal chambers. With her head lowered, Arwen hurried by Elrond and took a chair by the window, staring to the ground. Right now, she probably looked exactly like that naughty elfling of back then who expected punishment for a prank. That was how she felt, too.

"Look at me, please." When she didn't react right away, her father pulled up a chair too and grabbed her chin for a moment, so he could look into her eyes. "My anger is not aimed at you."

"It should be, though. I was just as thoughtless as Aragorn earlier. Don't start assuming the worst of him _again_ , ada, or there is nothing, we have to say to each other." Arwen just got even angrier.

Elrond folded his hands in his lap; for the first time, he seemed uncertain what to tell her. Arwen was as good as married, strictly speaking, she wasn't under his protection anymore. It wasn't for him to still try and give her orders, no matter how stupid she was behaving. "I just wished for him to not suddenly choose escapism again. You can't drink or kiss your problems away, Arwen. Do you know by now what you will do if we couldn't fully heal you?"

"Even then, the people will insist on an heir to the throne, we both know that. I'm not quite sure yet how Aragorn thinks he can accomplish that. Right now, all we can do is wait." Arwen restlessly turned her circlet from one side to the other, finally put it on the windowsill. It was probably the last time that she had worn the tiara of her realm. And only the Valar knew if she was even worthy of the crown that might adorn her head in the future.

"You should better have asked instead of looking for a distraction." Elrond thoughtfully looked at the jewelry as well, then at the necklace, Arwen was wearing. "Would you ask of him to let the line of Kings end of which he is the last hope, Arwen? Sooner or later, you'll have to ask yourself that whether you like it or not. And if the answer is no, if you don't want to get in the way of his duty, then you should rather ask yourself if you can bear to see him with another woman."

Arwen squeezed her eyes shut. The picture now forming in her now entirely sober head hurt way too much to even allow the thought. "He never said anything about …"

"Of course not, because he wants to think about it just as little as you do. But if the Valar won't be very gracious towards you, Arwen, at some point, you won't be able to run away from this possibility anymore."

Though Elrond had to feel how much his blunt words hit Arwen, he kept right on. "Maybe it would be easier for both of you to not force this decision on him in the first place. It's not too late yet to turn around. I know, I said I wouldn't ask this of you again, but that was before we saw in our healing sessions how bad it really is. I love Estel like my own son, but I don't want him to hurt you like this. You don't deserve that."

"And he doesn't deserve me to give up on him, now of all times when we can finally be together. I'm sorry, ada. You know exactly that I wouldn't be welcome in the west any longer anyway. You and the twins, you will be very happy there, together with nana. But this hasn't been my destiny in a long time." Wrapping her arms around Elrond's shoulders, Arwen cried heavy tears on his robe, as she had so often in the last years. Yes, it did hurt, it still was tearing up her heart to know that someday, she wouldn't be able to rely on this comfort anymore.

But she had accepted that when she had made her decision for Aragorn. Not even an evening like this, when she was seriously angry with her companion, changed anything about that. "Whatever Estel's and my fate, it will be decided here, in these realms. And I will face it. I …" She swallowed arduously. "I love you more than anything, ada. But I would like to be alone now. Tomorrow, we'll have another few more hours together, alright?"

Only when the door had closed behind Elrond, Arwen slumped crying, burying her face in her hands. Where would all of this end?

Before the sun even came up, Arwen had to deal with another unruly male being. Cursing, she stood next to a still quite young dark brown Mearh stallion named Alagas and tried to prepare it for a morning ride, but he downright braced against the bridle.

She would much rather have taken Asfaloth again, but Asfaloth had returned to his rightful owner, and she never wanted to part Glorfindel and him again. She would have no choice but to finally establish good ties to a new animal, to train it for her needs; in the last decades, she just hadn't had any time for that.

Alagas of course was the obvious choice. He had already taken her out of this valley back then, the first part of the road, once she had made her decision to ride to the Black Gate. That – prompted by Glorfindel – she had left him in a camp near the Gap of Rohan then, in favor of Asfaloth, he apparently resented her for.

Arwen already was close to giving up, but spotting a very well-known muscular shape standing at the stable entrance had her continue her attempts immediately.

Aragorn stepped closer to her and the stallion and watched the show for a moment. "Shouldn't you know how sensitively horses, and Mearas in particular, react to inner unrest? Let me give it a try."

"Stop that please." Arwen harshly pushed his hand away when he wanted to take the bridle from her. "And yes, I know how sensitively _I_ react to being treated wrong. A horse surely fares similarly."

Aragorn ran his hand through his strawy hair with a sigh. The last night clearly showed on him, and not only by unattractive dark circles. His whole posture looked overwhelmed. "Would you listen to me for a moment?"

"Not now. I desperately have to befriend this hothead here before we can leave. As you can see." Arwen had finally made it to put on the bridle, after all. "Get out of my way."

Aragorn didn't budge an inch. He even broadened his stance, eying the bag on the horse with a frown. "What are you doing?

"I have to get out of here for a few hours." Arwen meant to just push him out of the way, but as long as Aragorn was standing before it, the horse apparently didn't want to move a muscle.

"Arwen … In your condition you can't …"

Every new word from his companion's mouth got Arwen closer to just getting up on the horse and riding him down. "You didn't care about my condition last night, did you? Move, or I will have to scream at you so loudly that ada will hear it in his office. Believe me, you don't want to meet him right now."

Unfortunately, Aragorn was not to be intimidated so easily. "You're still too weak to defend yourself if you possibly run into enemies. Please be rational."

"Suddenly you want to be rational?" Arwen knew that she was being unfair, that she was letting the exhaustion in her body and mind after the alcohol excess guide her, and annoying nausea that she had never suffered from before. Especially her anger at herself though. Aragorn didn't deserve that any more than Elrond's frown.

Still, she couldn't just turn it off. Aragorn had hurt her with his dismissive behavior at the end of the night, he couldn't make her forget that with a few well-meant words.

The poisoned thorn that her father had thrust in her side, remained as well, though that was even less her beloved's fault. And she certainly wouldn't tell him that. This burden, she would have to live with alone, until they would have certainty. And then it would probably only get worse.

Right now she just wanted to leave Imladris, to get away from the other elves who were surely gossiping about yesterday's events already.

"Be angry with me all you want; you have a right to be. But in Dunland, you saw firsthand how dangerous Middle-earth still is, even after Sauron's fall. I won't let you leave, so you can punish me with something happening to you." Aragorn took the reins from Arwen so roughly that the horse startled and pranced backward with a neigh.

"Not everything is about you, though that might be slightly hard to grasp for a future King. I just want to be alone, that's all. Don't worry, I'll take one of ada's guards with me. At least they are sober enough to know what they're doing." She had talked herself into a rage, her shoulders were shaking with anger.

This time, Alagas followed her when she took a step forward again as if he'd understood what she had thrown into Aragorn's face and lost his scruples to become rough.

Honest pain and guilt alternated on Aragorn's features. Every of Arwen's words had hit home. "I was only angry with myself yesterday, Arwen. In that moment, I couldn't live with myself. I'm sorry that I took that out on you."

"I do believe you, but I need to digest this first."

Another look at the entrance had Arwen pause. "Great, did the King bring reinforcements?"

"Reinforcement usually don't feel like shooting arrows at the person seeking help." Legolas gave Aragorn a glance that spoke volumes, especially revealing that he'd every word of the argument. Elvish hearing and all.

Instead of regarding his friend with further attention, Legolas turned to the horse that was still unwillingly pulling on the reins, whispering a few melodic words to it whereupon the stallion quickly calmed down.

Legolas looked as if he'd just got out of bed – probably an idea not too far-fetched. Loosely tied-back hair allowed a good look at signs of fatigue. His dark blue breeches and the matching tunic seemed clean and neat but not exactly new.

And something else was different, too. The typical playful and at the same time, fully satisfied shine in his eyes that Arwen immediately noticed, in spite of her dwindling elvish powers, revealed that the wedding ceremony had indeed been successfully completed. And for Arwen's best friend, this change so fundamental for elves had additionally caused something, you probably only realized when you had had to deal with a grumpy elf the last couple of weeks. His serenity was back. Completely relaxed, Legolas took care of the problem without voicing a justified complaint about his two companions stirring up such a fuss, hours after his wedding.

"That ride is not happening, Arwen." Bending down over the horse's right foreleg, he touched a spot by its knee. He deftly dodged a kick, holding the hoof in an unyielding grasp until the stallion put it down. "Seems he's got a little too excited about your rushed plan. Only a small swelling, but if you don't have it treated, we might as well forget about departure after breakfast."

Arwen took a deep breath. _How_ had she offended the Valar today, to get punished like that? She wrapped her arms around the animal's neck and murmured an apology.

"Let's get him outside. Both light and company are far better there." Without deigning to look at Aragorn again, she went ahead, leaving it to Legolas to bring the horse.

Legolas let go of Alagas so he could pluck a few grass blades at the edge of the yard and sat down on a bench under the canopy, with crossed legs, after tasking one of the stable hands with sending a healer.

"Between you and me now … What seems to have happened last night is unforgivable, but an elf like you should have enough strength to admit, it wasn't only Aragorn's fault. You both had way too much to drink, you know."

Was everyone in this valley dead set on hurting her today? "I'm not denying that my rationality failed me miserably for a moment. I did not encourage Aragorn to leave me alone though, so ada could call me on the carpet like a naughty elfling. Excuse me, Legolas, I need a new horse."

"What for? Running won't help the situation." Legolas reached for her shoulder when she wanted to hurry past him, but quickly let go of her again when her hands turned to hard fists.

"As long as you haven't fully recovered, you're Aragorn's and my responsibility, you know that very well. One of the reasons, Aragorn has asked me to come along on this journey, was to take care of you, and that's what I'm going to do. If you rashly head for the wilderness now, all you will achieve is my new wife being angry with you, because I will have to spend the next hours tracking you down instead of staying with her. My affection for you is much too deep for me to bear it if anything happened to you again."

"If that's the case, choose your words more wisely. How dare you control me like that? Did I ever do that do you when you went headfirst into another of your battles? Sometimes you are alarmingly much like your father. I came here voluntarily, not as your prisoner."

Growling, Arwen rubbed her eyes when a headache threatened to pain her on top of everything else. She started to hate her Secondborn-body more and more. "I guess you leave me no choice. I would be close to you and unable to change it, and I hate being watched."

"Try to make up with Aragorn before we leave. The return journey won't be any shorter than our last."

Sighing, Legolas got up to go wake up another she-elf, who was probably in a much more cheerful mood.


End file.
